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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 


ENDOWED  BY  THB 
DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


PS165U 

•Eli 

W3 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 

DATE               q  i?T 
DUE  RLT 

DUEE  RET 

Form  No.  573 

Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2014 


https://archive.org/details/waiforweboflifenOOeric 


THE  WAIF: 
The  Web  of  Life. 


A  NOVEL.. 


Murky  night  that  speeds  the  blast, 
Bushing  like  a  warrior  past ; 
"Where  shall  it  find  rest  at  last  ? 

Where  the  pang,  the  grief,  the  smart 
Hankies  in  the  bleeding  heart, 
Pierced  by  many  a  fatal  dart ! 

A  waif  on  the  great  sea  of  life, 
Tortured,  buffeted,  full  of  strife, 
At  last  despair. 


Thing  of  wretchedness  and  sin, 

Stifle  all  that  feels  within, 

While  thine  eyes  look  forth  on  him. 

Stifle  each  remorseful  feeling, 

Every  lineament  revealing, 

How  his  woes  are  with  him  dealing. 

Sorrow  where  all  once  was  fair, 
Sitting  on  his  brow— despair  ! 
Wretched  one,  thy  work  is  done  I 


ATLANTA,  GA.: 
as.  P.  Harrison  &  Co.,  State  Printers. 
1883. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1883,  by 
EMMA  ERICHSEN, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


Dear  Reader  : 

I  present  you  with  my  first  book.  I  do  not  know  how  many  will 
like  it — perhaps  none.  The  critic  will  find  many  failings  and  short- 
comings, but  I  trust  the  kindly,  indulgent  peruser  will  overlook  all 
inaccuracies — remembering  it  is  my  first  effort.  Creeping  begins  be- 
fore walking,  walking  before  running,  and  this  is  my  very  first  creep 
towards  the  broad,  expansive  field  of  literature,  and  I  beg  you  will 
not  scornfully  reject  it,  because  imperfect  in  diction,  and  not  grace- 
fully draped,  but  try  and  find  the  moral. 

It  is  my  hope  that  it  may  reach  the  eye  of  some  careless  or  erring 
parent,  bringing  home  to  the  heart  the  meaning  of  Jehovah's  words, 
when  He  spake  in  a  thundering  voice  from  out  the  smoke  and  fire  of 
Sinai,  "The  iniquity  of  the  parent  descendeth  upon  the  child — 
unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation."  God  does  not  lie — what  He 
decreed  unto  Moses  He  meant  for  us  all,  even  unto  the  end  of  tha 
world.  Affectionately, 

Emma  Erichsen. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


The  Chamber  of  Death,   5< 

The  Funeral,  ,  16 

The  Young  Heir,   18 

The  Parsonage,   30 

Shadows,   36 

Lila,   47 

The  Stolen  Jewels,   65 

The  Mysterious  Resemblance,   73 

Lila's  Secret,   83 

Easter  Events,    94 

Irene's  Jealousy,  ,    .   .    .    ;  107 

The  Exile,   127 

The  Visit  to  Virginia,   146 

Mrs.  Hayes,   166 

Saved,   200- 

Maud  aud  Sadie  Burgoyne,   206 

Commencement,   222 

Charlotte's  Sacrifice,   232. 

The  Revelation,    234 

The  Silver  Casket,   238 

"Vengeance  is  Mine,  I  Will  Repay,"   247 

A  Bright  Dawn,   257 

Abroad,   264 

Home^  Again,   293- 


THE  CHAMBER  OF  DEATH. 


§t  was  a  cold,rainy  and  extremely  disagreeable  morning  of 
an  early  January  day.  The  streets  of  Charleston  looked 
almost  deserted.  Here  and  there  a  wet,  shivering  ne- 
gro could  be  seen,  and  a  few  muffled  pedestrians,  compelled 
out  by  some  stern  necessity,  a  doctor's  chaise  hurrying  along 
through  the  freezing  elements,  the  belated  milkman  and  ba- 
ker's cart,  and  a  stray  load  of  oak  wood  for  sale,  cried  by 
its  dusky  aspirant  for  a  purchaser  quite  lustily,  as  though 
he  wished  to  let  folks  know  within  doors  that  they  need  not 
be  cold,  was  about  all  that  enlivened  the  thoroughfares,  and 
told  one  that  a  little  life  was  left  in  the  old  city,  notwith- 
standing the  biting,  sleeting  rain  descending  mercilessly 
down  from  above. 

As  the  morning  wore  on,  an  incoming  train  created  a  lit- 
tle more  excitement  in  the  eastern  portion  of  the  city.  Al- 
most instantaneously  as  the  cars  came  steaming  and  rattling 
into  the  depot,  a  closed  carriage  proceeded  from  out  of  it 
and  drove  rapidly  along  the  gloomy  streets,  soon  halting  in 
front  of  a  stately  but  closed  residence,  in  the  heart  of  an 
aristocratic  neighborhood. 

A  tall  gentleman,  well-muffled,  alighted  and  without  cere- 
mony, opened  the  gate  and  hurriedly  treaded  the  gravel  walk 
leading  to  the  house.  He  was  evidently  expected,  for  be- 
fore he  reached  the  broad,  marble  steps,  the  hall  door  was 
thrown  open  and  a  tall,  handsome  boy  anxiously  waited  to 
receive  him. 

"The  Eev.  Mr.  Bentley  ?"  he  asked  inquiringly. 
"Yes,  and  this  is  Louis  Montaine,  I  presume?"  replied 
that  gentleman,  grasping  cordially  the  hand  extended  to 
him.     "How  is  your  father  ?" 

"Yery,  very  ill,  I  fear,  sir,"  was  the  low,  agitated  reply. 
1 


6 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"Ah  !  but  we  will  trust,  not  dangerously.  I  was  sorrow- 
fully surprised  at  the  news  of  his  sudden  illness,  yet,  my 
dear  young  friend,  it  is  a  wise  hand  that  deals  the  blow, 
and  we  must  bow  in  submission  to  His  holy  will.  He 
knows  what  is  best  for  us,  and  never  needlessly  or  willing- 
ly afflicts  the  children  of  His  love." 

"Yes,  but  it  is  hard,  cruel,"  was  the  bitter  cry.  Then, 
with  a  mighty  effort,  crushing  down  the  agony  within,  he 
continued  :  "Please  let  me  help  you  off  with  your  overcoat, 
and  walk  in  here  by  the  fire,  while  I  go  and  acquaint  my 
father  of  your  arrival,  he  has  been  exceedingly  anxious  to 
see  you,  and  the  nervous  eagerness  he  has  manifested  all 
night,  and  this  morning,  has  weakened  him  considerably. 
Please  be  seated,  I  will  return  without  delay." 

Drawing  a  luxurious  chair  before  the  genial  glow  of  the 
bright  coal  within  the  highly  burnished  grate,  the  reverend 
gentleman  gazed  musingly  around.  The  apartment  was 
large  and  sumptuous.  The  rich,  Brussels  carpet,  velvet 
chairs,  divans,  and  luxurious  lounges  and  heavy  garnet  vel- 
vet hangings,  gave  the  occupant  a  sense  of  elegant  comfort, 
while  it  completely  shut  out  the  cold  and  misery  without. 

"Father  will  see  you  at  once,  Mr.  Bentley,  if  you  please." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  was  the  somewhat  abstracted  re- 
sponse of  the  gentleman,  as  he  arose  and  followed  his  young 
host,  who  preceded  him  up  a  broad,  richly  carpeted  stair- 
way, and  silently  ushered  him  into  a  spacious,  but  darkened 
apartment,  quietly  closing  the  door  upon  his  entrance. 

The  soft,  yielding  carpet,  the  richly  appointed  furniture, 
and  costly  tapestry,  betokened  great  wealth  and  lavishment, 
but  not  sufficient  to  purchase  health  to  the  master  and 
owner  of  it  all,  who  lay,  propped  up  in  bed,  racked  with 
pain  and  flushed  with  fever. 

A  trembling,  eager  hand  was  with  difficulty  extended,  as 
Mr.  Bentley  approached,  and  in  a  weak  but  steady  voice, 
he  exclaimed : 

"God  be  praised,  that  you  have  come  in  time,  and  that  I 
was  permitted  to  see  you,  ere  it  was  too  late.  Henry,  I  am 
very  ill.    My  physician  holds  out  no  hope  of  my  recovery, 


The  Chamber  of  Death. 


7 


and  I  feel  death  is  very  near.  I  could  welcome  it  with  out- 
stretched arms.  I  am  eager  to  go  and  be  at  rest,  but  my 
boy,  my  only  child  !  How  can|I  be  willing  to  go,  and  leave 
him  to  be  an  easy,  willing  prey  to  a  most  cunning  and  deep- 
laid  snare  ?  Henry,  my  mind  is  weighed  down  with  a  bitter, 
almost  hopeless  torment,  and  I  have  sent  for  you,  my  boy- 
hood's friend,  to  ask,  to  demand  a  great  favor  at  your  hands, 
and  then  beg  you  to  help  me  prepare  to  meet  my  God."  He 
fell  back,  almost  fainting,  still  holding  in  a  death-like  grasp 
the  hand  of  his  friend. 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Mr.  Bentley,  soothingly,  "I  am 
painfully  sorry  to  find  you  so  ill,  but  please  try  and  be  calm; 
this  agitation  is  not  good  nor  wise.  If  there  is  any  thing  in 
my  poor  power  to  grant  you  a  favor  and  soothe  your  last 
moments,  gladly,  willingly,  will  I  do  it ;  but  you  must  not 
excite  yourself  and  talk  too  much,  it  is  injudicious.  Be 
calm,  and  demand  my  services,  I  will  do  my  utmost  to  sat- 
isfy them,  as  far  as  it  lies  in  my  power." 

The  sick  man  motioned  him  to  take  a  seat,  asking  faintly 
for  water,  and  seating  himself,  Mr.  Bentley  handed  him  a 
dish  of  cracked  ice,  from  which  he  eat  freely  and  thirst- 
ingly. 

"Yes,  I  know  it  is  wrong,  injudicious  to  agitate  myself," 
he  said  after  a  while,  in  a  calmer  tone.  "  But,  before 
I  die,  I  want  to  settle  my  affairs  somewhat,  and  ease 
my  mind  of  a  grievous  worry,  which  is  gnawing  my  vitals 
and  hastening  my  earthly  pilgrimage.  You  know, 
Henry,  I  will  leave  my  son,  my  only  idolized  child, 
immensely  rich,  and  I  do  not  wish  him  to  remain  here 
in  Charleston.  He  has  just  finished  his  academic  course, 
and  as  he  is  not  very  strong,  my  physician  advised  me 
not  to  send  him  to  the  North,  to  any  of  its  celebrated 
colleges,  as  his  lungs  could  not  withstand  the  severity  of 
Northern  winters  ;  so  he  concluded  to  prosecute  his  studies 
at  our  City  College,  with  my  sanction,  and  would  have  be- 
gun last  week  but  for  my  sudden  and  fatal  illness.  I  am 
ever  anxious  to  patronize  our  Southern  institutions,  and  was 
very  happy  at  the  arrangement.    He  is  a  brilliant  scholar 


8 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


and  hard  working  student,  and  I  know  will  succeed  at  any 
University,  but  my  present,  and  I  feel  fatal  illness,  has  com- 
pletely changed  my  mind.  I  do  not  wish  him  to  remain 
here,  if  1  am  called  away.  There  is  an  association,  a  bale- 
ful, dangerous  influence  exerted  over  him  here  that  I  wish 
broken,  dispelled,  destroyed  forever,  and  the  only  way  is  to 
get  him  away,  to  separate  him  from  it,  and  it  is  you,  my 
boyhood's  and  college'  friend,  that  I  call  on  to  help  me  in 
this  time  of  my  trouble.  You  know  my  past  life,  the  bit- 
ter wrong  and  dire  distress  that  befell  me  more  than  sixteen 
years  ago,  which  has  broken  my  peace  and  embittered  my 
life  all  these  long,  weary  years.  The  perpetrator  of  that 
dreadful  record,  which  I  shudder  to  recall,  is  not  yet  satisfied. 
Horace  Burgoyne,  the  husband  of  my  only  sister,  yet  withal 
my  bitterest,  in  fact,  only  known  enemy,  has  had  the  auda- 
city to  send  his  family  under  my  very  eyes,  and  keep  fresh 
in  my  memory  what,  alas  !  has  never  faded  or  grown  dim. 
For  the  last  two  years  my  sister  and  her  children  have  lived 
opposite,  while  he,  the  curse  of  my  life,  is  away  in  Europe, 
daring  not  to  return,  he  thinks ;  but  at  my  death  he  will 
soon  make  his  appearance,  and,  as  the  relative  of  my  son, 
will  claim  the  rightful  guardianship  if  I  do  not  provide  oth- 
erwise, and  Louis  will  be  only  too  glad  to  make  the  home  of 
his  aunt  and  cousin  'Rene,  his  own.  Yes,  Henry,  as  if  I 
had  not  suffered  enough,  can  you  believe  that  Irene  Bur- 
goyne, the  very  counterpart  of  her  handsome  but  disloyal 
father,  has  completely  bewitched  my  boy  ?  His  very  life 
and  being,  every  thought  and  feeling  is  wrapt  up  in  her, 
but  he  cannot,  shall  not  marry  her ;  with  my  dying  breath 
I  protest  it.  He  ?nust  not,  shall  not  marry  Rene  Burgoyne^ 
He  grew  very  excited  and  vehement,  and  it  was  with  dif- 
ficulty that  Mr.  Bentley  quieted  him.  After  taking  more 
ice  and  sipping  a  little  cordial,  he  went  on,  speaking  weaker 
but  quieter,  and  very  earnestly  and  pleadingly,  "And  now, 
Henry,  what  I  want  from  you  is  to  accept  the  guardianship 
of  my  son  until  he  is  of  age,  and  continue  his  friend  and 
adviser  through  your  life.  W  ill  you  do  it,  Harry  ?  Will  you 
be  a  father,  a  friend  to  my  orphan  boy  ?  Don't  refuse  me 


The  Chamber  of  Death. 


9 


this  last,  dying  request,  for  I  know  no  other  I  could  so  safely 
leave  him  with.  You  will  not  find  him  troublesome,  for  he 
is  a  good,  noble  boy  ;  once  gain  his  good  will  and  affection 
and  all  will  be  well.    You  will  not  refuse,  Henry  ?  " 

Mr.  Bentley,  somewhat  staggered  by  this  unexpected  re- 
sponsibility, did  not  immediately  reply,  and  as  if  to  gain 
time  said,  averting  his  eyes  from  the  eager,  anxious  gaze 
riveted  upon  him  :  "  Have  you  consulted  your  son  ;  will  he 
be  willing  to  change  this  luxurious  life  for  a  dull  country 
parsonage  with  limited  resources  of  pleasure  and  agreeable 
companionship  ?  A  country  life  to  a  city-reared  person  is 
very  wearisome  and  monotonous.  I  could  scarcely  endure 
it  at  first,  and  it  took  many  years  to  reconcile  myself  to  the 
necessity.  I  am  afraid  your  son  would  not  like  and  be  sat- 
isfied, Edwin." 

•'Perhaps  not,"  and  the  tone  was  low,  troubled,  anxious. 
"  I  know  it  will  be  hard,  for  he  has  very  pleasant,  happy 
associations  here  ;  but,  then,  I  do  it  for  his  future  good  and 
happiness.  The  pure,  wholesome  atmosphere  of  your 
mountain  home  will  be  the  essential  thing  to  build  up  his 

constitution,  which  is  not  the  strongest,  and  College 

has  a  good  reputation,  and  will  suit  him  equally  as  well  as 
our  City  College.  I  feel  it  will  be  the  very  thing  for 
him.  And,  O  !  Henry,  do  not  hesitate  to  take  my  boy. 
Snatch  him  from  the  danger  that  awaits  him  here.  I  know 
he  will  consent  to  go  if  I  request  it  with  my  dying  breath. 
This  change,  though  hard  at  first,  will  be  the  best  I  can  do 
for  my  soon  orphan  boy.  Make  the  parsonage  his  home,  the 
religious  instruction  there  and  the  discipline  of  college  life 
united  will  give  a  tone  to,  and  keep  in  order,  his  already 
good,  noble  qualities.  Take  my  boy,  Henry,  try  and  exert 
your  influence  over  him  and  break  the  unhappy  spell  that 
seems  to  hold  him  in  iron  fetters,  and  if  allowed  to  go 
on  will  only  prove  a  lifelong  misery.  Irene  Burgoyne  can 
never  make  him  happy,  fill  the  deep  longings  and  require- 
ments of  his  lonely,  craving  heart.  She  is  a  spoiled,  selfish 
devotee  to  fashion  and  conventionality  ;  and  then  the  child, 
the  counterpart,  of  Horace  Burgoyne.  Henry,  save  my 
boy  and  let  me  die  in  peace." 


10 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"I  will,  my  dear  friend,  try  and  do  what  you  ask  of  ine. 
It  was  not  that  I  was  unwilling,  that  made  me  hesitate,  it 
came  so  unexpectedly,  I  was  not  prepared  ;  but  I  will  cheer- 
fully accept  the  charge,  and  do  my  utmost  to  be  a  friend,  a 
father  to  your  son,  providing  he  consents  to  what  you  wish, 
and  in  every  way  I  will  try  and  dispel  his  fancy  for  his 
cousin.  I  promise  you,  Edwin,  to  do  all  I  can  for  your 
son's  good  and  welfare,  so  try  and  compose  yourself,  you 
are  very  ill." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  am  very  ill,"  he  murmured,  a  smile  breaking 
over  the  hitherto  anxious  face.  "But  I  am  greatly  re- 
lieved, you  have  lifted  a  heavy  burden  from  my  mind,  and 
may  God  bless  and  help  you  in  your  endeavors  to  befriend 
my  nearly  orphaned  boy.  Go  about  it  kindly,  judiciously, 
and,  Henry,  never  breathe  a  word  of  the  nature  of  the 
wrong  done  me.  If  Louis  knew,  he  would  turn  away  in 
horror  and  loathing  ;  but  I  do  not  wish  to  embitter  his 
young  life,  and  will  only  resort  to  it  as  a  last  effort  to  save 
nim.  If  you  find,  Henry,  that  separation  fails,  and  he  is 
really  determined  to  marry  his  cousin,  then,  and  not  until 
then,  at  the  last  moment,  give  him  this  casket  from  his  dy- 
ing father."  As  he  spoke,  he  drew  from  under  his  pillow 
a  silver  box,  securely  sealed,  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Bentley, 
who  received  it  with  bowed  head  and  solemn,  awed  man- 
ner. "In  it  is  a  letter  to  him,  in  full  detail  of  my  past  suf- 
ferings, and  the  wrong  done  me  by  Horace  Burgoyne,  and 
a  copy  of  a  subsequent  will  made  by  me  to  the  one  he  will 
hear  read.  Again,  let  me  urge,  that  this  is  given  when  all 
else  fails,  let  it  be  a  last,  last  resort.  Promise,  my  friend, 
to  do  as  I  request,  nay,  beseech  you  to  do.  Oh !  may 
God,  in  His  infinite  mercy,  save  my  darling,  and  only  child, 
the  knowledge  of  that  hidden  record,  by  granting  my 
prayer,  that  you  may  destroy  the  box,  instead  of  placing  it 
in  his  possession.    Oh  !  Henry,  will  you  save  my  boy  ?" 

"Edwin,  I  faithfully,  solemnly  promise  to  do  all  I  can, 
and  by  prayer  and  earnest  effort,  trust  to  secure  all  you 
wish,  without  unhappiness  to  your  son." 

The  sick  man  grasped  gratefully  the  hand  of  his  early 


The  Chamber  of  Death. 


ii 


friend,  and  said  feebly  :  "May  God  bless  you  in  your  ef- 
forts, my  dear  Henry.  I  have  arranged  it  with  the  trustees 
of  the  estate,  that  you  shall  be  liberally  compensated  for 
your  trouble,  that  is,  for  the  expense  and  responsibility  an- 
other in  your  family  will  necessarily  incur  ;  but  money  can 
never  pay  you  to  act  a  disinterested,  fatherly-part  by  my 
boy,  so  soon  to  be  left  without  a  father's  love  and  care ; 
God  will  reward  you  there.  I  thank  you,  Henry,  it  is 
easier  for  me  to  go  now.  Oh !  cherish  him,  my  friend,  and 
God  will  reward  you  bountifully.  Please  touch  that  bell,  I 
feel  very  weak,  and  must  put  my  Louis  in  your  hands,  then 
turn  my  thoughts  from  this  earth,  with  its  cares  and  bitter- 
ness, to  a  happier  clime,  where  I  trust  I  will  meet  my  lost 
darling,  who,  I  imagine,  is  waiting  to  welcome  me  to  rest 
and  happiness.    May  it  not  prove  a  delusion." 

Mr.  Bentley  had  done  as  requested,  and  now  spoke  gently, 
soothingly  to  the  dying  man,  trying  to  lead  his  thoughts 
from  earth,  which  was  fast  fading  from  his  vision.  Scarcely 
had  a  minute  elapsed  when  the  door  opened  quietly,  and 
Louis  Montaine  was  at  his  father's  side,  an  anxious  grief 
depicted  on  his  every  feature,  while  his  form  quivered  with 
the  suppressed  anguish  within. 

"Father,"  he  said  lowly,  "did  you  call  me  V*  and  he  bent 
over  the  form  of  his  dying  parent,  agony  in  the  eyes  that 
saw  too  clearly  the  bright  lamp  going  out  all  too  soon. 

"Yes,  my  son."  And  the  parent,  with  a  last  effort, 
aroused  himself,  and  gazing  fondly  into  the  agonized  young 
face,  spoke  lowly,  but  distinctly :  "My  precious  child,  God, 
in  His  infinite  wisdom,  is  about  to  take  me  from  you.  I 
almost  wish  to  murmur,  for  it  is  hard  to  leave  you,  my 
son ;  but  it  is  God  who  deals  the  blow,  and  we  must  sub- 
mit. Let  me  go  in  peace,  and  meet  me  and  your  mother 
after  a  little  while  within  the  golden  gates  of  the  New  Je- 
rusalem. And,  my  son,  will  you  make  my  last  moments 
happy,  peaceful,  by  consenting  to  a  plan  I  have  for  your 
future  good?  I  wish  to  give  you,  as  a  son,  for  a  few  years, 
to  my  dear,  truest,  friend.  Will  you  go  with  him,  Louis, 
to  his  mountain  home,  accept  his  guardianship  and  fatherly 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


care,  until  you  are  of  age  ?  And  let  me  die  in  peace,  with, 
a  calm,  satisfied  mind,  feeling  that  my  dear  boy  is  left  in 
safe,  disinterested  hands.  I  see,  my  son,  you  start ;  you 
do  not  like  the  plan,  but  I  exact  it  for  your  future  good 
and  happiness.  What  do  you  say?  Will  you  consent  and 
let  me  go  in  peace  ?  Oh  !  my  child,  my  only  child,  the  only 
solace  and  incentive  to  life,  would  that  I  could  stay  here 
and  guard  you  ever,  but  a  greater  will  decrees  it  otherwise, 
and  it  must  be  well,  yea,  all  well." 

He  sank  back,  exhausted  and  faint,  his  eyes  closing,  but 
still  clasping  in  his  cold,  almost  nerveless,  grasp  the  hand 
of  his  son. 

A  mighty  tempest  seemed  to  rage  within  the  breast  of 
the  boy.  It  was  evident  he  did  not  expect,  or  like,  the  wish 
of  his  dying  parent,  and  yet,  how  could  he  deny  the  last 
desire,  disobey  the  last  request  of  this  fond,  devoted,  and 
passionately-loved  father  ?  The  battle  was  short,  but  fierce. 
With  a  face  pale  and  agonized,  from  the  violent  effort  to 
subdue  his  grief,  aud  hide  from  his  parent  the  anguish  of 
his  soul  and  bitter  aversion  to  the  sudden  plan  to  send  him 
away,  contrary  to  his  expectations,  and  against  his  inclina- 
tion. The  voice  was  low,  but  firm,  that  spoke  :  "Father,  I 
will  do  any  thing  you  wish ;  any  thing  to  please  and  make 
you  happy ;"  then,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  anguish,  he 
cried  :  "But,  0  !  father,  you  will  not  leave  me  yet :  I  can- 
not give  you  up!" 

"My  dear,  dear  boy,"  murmured  the  dying  father,  "it  is 
not  my  will  but  His,  let  me  go  ;  for  it  is  gain  for  me  to 
be  at  rest  with  Christ.  Henry  will  take  care  of  you,  Louis, 
my  boy,  do  not  grieve.  It  will  be  well  with  me,  and  God 
will  take  care  of  you." 

"Oh !  father,  father,  it  is  so  hard  to  give  you  up.  I 
know  it  is  selfish  for  me  to  wish  yo"u  longer  from  my 
mother ;  I  know  you  long  to  meet  her  again,"  and  the 
voice  grew  strangely  hushed  and  tender.  "Tell  her,  her 
son  loves  and  reverences  her  memory,  though  he  never 
knew  her  on  earth.  And,  O  !  my  father,  ble^s,  and  for- 
give your  boy  for  every  pang  and  care  he  has  caused 


The  Chamber  of.  Death. 


13 


you.  I  have  often  been  bad,  willful,  but  tell  me  all  is  for- 
given." 

The  voice  of  the  dying  parent  was  low  and  faint,  as  rest- 
ing his  hands  on  the  bowed  head  of  his  son,  he  said  :  "May 
your  father's  blessing  ever  rest  upon  you,  my  son,  my  only 
child.  If  there  is  any  thing  to  forgive,  it  is  freely,  eagerly, 
given  ;  but,  Louis,  you  have  been  a  good,  true  son,  erring 
sometimes,  but  never  bad.  All  the  happiness  I  have  known 
for  years,  you  gave  me,  my  son.  And,  O  !  may  God  bless, 
and  keep  you  from  all  harm.  I  feel  I  am  going  now,  but 
remember  who  parts  us,  and  dare  not  rebel  against  the  de- 
cree of  Jehovah.  Call  your  aunt,  and  unite  with  me  in 
prayer,  and  the  partaking  of  the  Lord's  Supper." 

Pale  and  agitated,  the  son  pbeved,  and  as  he  moved  away 
Mr.  Bentley  approached,  with  words  of  consolation  and 
cheer.  The  livid  hue  of  death  rested  upon  the  features  of 
Edwin  Montaine,  the  marble  brow  clammy ;  the  eyes  set  and 
glassy,  yet,  with  a  conscious  light  within  ;  but  all  was  calm 
and  peaceful.  For  the  last  five  days  he  had  wrestled  with 
a  painful  and  fatal  illness,  ever  conscious,  full  of  fears, 
doubts,  anxieties,  and  terror,  at  the  dread,  sudden  summons 
to  go  and  leave  his  child,  whom  he  had  almost  idolized  ;  to 
go  in  the  young  prime  of  life,  and,  worst  of  all,  tormented 
with  an  ever  present  dread  of  future  ill  for  his  son.  But 
now,  as  the  last  moments  drew  nigh,  all  this  was  lost.  Calm, 
satisfied,  he  looked  upon  death  ;  all  its  dread  terrors  pass- 
ing away  and  swallowed  up  in  the  bright  anticipations  of 
approaching  paradisal  bliss  and  rest. 

His  sister  entering,  drew  near,  and  as  she  kissed  his  damp, 
cold  brow,  his  fast  failing  senses  returned,  and  he  said  : 
"God  bless,  and  help — you — Harriet — tell — him — I  for- 
give— all — all — all — Good-bye — kneel — and — pray — with— 
me." 

They  all  knelt  around  his  bedside,  Mr.  Bentley  praying, 
earnestly,  feelingly,  bis  faint  voice  responding  audibly  to 
each  "Amen,"  and  in  the  partaking  of  the  consecrated  ele- 
ments of  the  Holy  Eucharist,  he  commented  audibly :  "I 
will  soon  be  with  the  dear  Lord  Jesus,  in  His  kingdom." 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


For  a  few  seconds  all  was  silent,  the  stillness  of  death 
falling  upon  the  room ;  then  opening  his  eyes  suddenly, 
they  wandered  to  his  son,  and  his  lips  formed  the  name  of 
"Louis,"  though  no  sound  came  with  the  attempted  utter- 
ance. 

"What  is  it  you  wish,  my  father?"  came  falteringly,  and 
the  almost  broken-hearted  youth  placed  his  ear  to  the  lips 
of  his  dying  parent. 

"Is — there — any  thing — you — want  more,  my  son  ?" 

One  instant  the  boy  hesitated  ;  then  in  an  agitated  un- 
dertone replied,  "Yes,  father;  do  you  forbid,  or  will  you 
consent  for  me  to  love  'Rene  dearer  than  a  cousin  ?  Tell 
me,  please,  my  father." 

But  the  eager,  acute  ear  caught  no  sound  ;  the  parent's 
lips  moved,  but  that  was  all ;  his  glazed  eyes  looked  steadily 
at  some  other  brighter  and  more  entrancing  scene.  A 
peaceful,  happy  smile  lit  up  his  features  and  with  a  sigh, 
gentle  and  calm,  his  released  spirit  was  wafted  in  gladly  ob- 
tained freedom  to  brighter  realms  and  left  but  a  lump  of 
clay  to  mortals'  care. 

A  low,  anguished  cry  escaped  the  livid  lips  of  the  be- 
reaved son,  as  he  sank  down  almost  fainting  beside  the  bed. 
Mr.  Bentley  reverently  composed  the  eyes  and  limbs  of  his 
old,  cherished  friend,  while  Mrs.  Burgoyne,  motioning  her 
children  from  the  room,  put  her  arms  about  the  stricken 
boy  and  tenderly  tried  to  soothe  the  poignancy  of  his  grief. 
Clasping  her  around,  he  laid  his  aching  head  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  sobbed  convulsively,  ever  and  anon  moaning 
in  anguished  accents  :  "Oh !  my  father,  have  you  gone  \ " 
The  pent  up  grief,  subdued  not  to  worry  his  parent  in  his 
illness,  and  during  his  last  moments,  gave  way,  and  as  the 
realization  of  his  great  loss  became  more  vividly  plain,  he 
grew  almost  violent  in  his  lamentations. 

"Oh  !  Louis,  Louis,  do  not  grieve  so  ;  your  father  is 
happy  now,  and  at  rest,''  came  the  despairing  tones  of  the 
troubled  aunt.  "  Would  he  approve  of  this  selfish  sorrow  ? 
Subdue  this  rebellious  grief  and  think  of  his  glorious, 
infinite  gain." 


The  Chamber  of  Death. 


*5 


But  in  vain  she  pleaded  and  reasoned.  "Wilder  became 
the  sobs  and  heart-rending  moans  of  the  young  orphan. 

Amidst  it,  and  rising  above,  the  earnest  voice  of  prayer 
was  now  heard,  pleading  for  consolation  and  balm  for  the 
bleeding  heart.  On  he  prayed,  so  calm  and  trustingly 
that  it  seemed  he  pleaded  with  a  present,  living  God.  As 
the  solemn  "amen"  fell  from  his  lips  a  quiet  awe  pervaded 
the  room.  He  rose  from  his  knees,  and  silently  retired, 
leaving  the  living  and  the  dead  together. 

Mrs.  Burgoyne  tenderly  bathed  the  heated  brow  and 
swollen  eyes  of  her  nephew,  and  led  him  unresistingly 
from  the  chamber,  and  ready,  devoted  hands  were  soon 
summoned  to  attend  to  the  requisite  offices  for  the  dead 
master  of  the  house.  The  day  glided  on  drearily  without, 
sadly  within.  The  night  closed  in,  as  drearily  and  sadly. 
The  late  Edwin  Montaine's  palatial  residence  was  still,  dark 
and  gloomy ;  while  all  that  remained  of  its  proud  master 
lay  cold  and  silent,  yet  calm  and  peaceful  looking  in 
death,  on  a  costly  bier  of  heavy  black  velvet,  decorated 
with  choice  hot-house  flowers,  tokens  of  the  love,  esteem 
and  remembrance  of  his  many  friends. 

Such  is  life.  Wealth  and  friends,  power  and  influence, 
-cannot  purchase  the  dearly  desired  boon — health  and  life. 


THE  FUNERAL. 


hkee  days  the  corpse  of  the  late  Mr.  Montaine  lay  in 
state,  in  the  lofty,  open  hall  of  his  late  grand  residence 

on  street.  The  gate  and  doors  were  thrown  open  ; 

the  spacious  parlors  and  hall  were  heavily  draped  in  mourn- 
ing, the  windows  were  closed,  and  the  only  light  allowed  came 
from  the  open  door,  and  was  reflected  from  the  ruddy  glow 
of  the  bright  coal  fires  within  the  highly  burnished  grates. 

Visitors  came  and  went  constantly,  day  and  night,  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  The  elite,  the  poor,  the 
working  class,  the  slave ;  all  came  with  one  accord  and  con- 
sent to  do  homage  to  the  wealthy,  widely  known  and  re- 
nowned good  man,  for  such  all  knew  him  to  be.  Edwin 
Montaine  was  the  very  personification  of  the  true,  hospi- 
table Southern  gentleman.  Proud,  stately,  honorable,  he 
was  esteemed  and  honored  by  the  aristocracy  of  the  city,  at 
whose  head  his  high  social  position  placed  him.  Kind, 
generous,  charitable,  ever  ready  with  open  hand  and  heart 
to  respond  to  the  calls  of  charity,  he  was  loved  and  held  in 
grateful  remembrance  by  the  poor  and  needy  ;  humane 
and  considerate,  he  was  greatly  beloved  and  venerated  by 
his  numerous  slaves.    In  fact 

"None  knew  him  but  to  love  him, 
None  named  him  but  to  praise." 

Who  that  ever  came  in  contact  with  his  genial  and 
warm-hearted  cordiality,  and  knew  of  the  bounteous  gen- 
erosity of  his  many  charities,  could  help  liking  and  honor- 
ing this  noble  man ;  and  yet,  strange  to  say,  he  had  an 
enemy.  How  could  one  so  widely  known  and  universally 
loved  say  he  had  an  enemy,  for  he  was  essentially  good 
and  Christ-like.  Though  his  name  was  ever  foremost  on 
public  charities,  where  hip  good  deeds  could  be  seen  of 


The  Funeral. 


men,  he  did  not  stop  there  satisfied,  feeling  his  duty  done, 
as  is  often  the  custom  with  wealthy  men.  No  beggar  was 
ever  turned  away  from  his  gate  empty  handed,  or  rudely 
repulsed  on  the  street,  and  the  applicant  for  help,  advice, 
or  what  else,  ever  received  a  ready,  generous  response  and 
willing  assistance  from  his  kind  heart  and  munificent  hand. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  after  his  death,  Edwin 
Montaine  was  borne  forth  never  to  return  to  his  stately 
home  again.  The  day  was  warm,  balmy  and  delightful. 
Less  than  four  days  seemed  to  transport  one  from  icy 
bound  Sweden  to  an  Italian  summer.  The  inhabitants, 
who  had  a  few  days  before  clustered  shivering  around 
glowing  grates,  or  huge  oak  fires,  came  forth  with 
unanimous  consent,  crowding  the  streets,  and  Charleston 
seemed  enjoying  a  May  day,  forgetting  it  was  January. 
Carriages,  with   liveried  coachmen,  rolled  along,  many 

stopping  at  St.  s,  and  by  the  time  the  funeral  cortege 

arrived,  the  spacious  church  was  densely  packed.  As  the 
metallic  coffin,  clothed  in  black  velvet,  mounted  heavily 
with  silver,  and  heaped  with  floral  designs,  offerings  of 
loving  friends,  entered  the  edifice,  the  surpliced  pastor  met 
and  preceded  it  up  the  aisle,  repeating  in  solemn,  fit  tones, 
"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life.1' 

The  grand  organ  rolled  forth  its  melancholy  strains, 
and  solemnly,  sweetly,  rendered  the  anthem.  The  service 
proceeded,  broken  by  the  wail  of  faithful  slaves,  and  the 
subdued  sobs  of  Mrs.  Burgoyne  and  her  daughters ;  but 
the  orphaned  son  uttered  not  a  sound,  gazing  with  a  fixed 
fascination  at  the  sad,  significant  proceedings,  and  yet 
seeming  not  to  realize  what  was  really  transpiring  around 
him.  The  beautiful  hymn,  124,  from  the  Prayer  Book, 
was  sung,  the  service  completed,  and  soon  the  last  act  was 
over.  The  mortal  remains  of  Edwin  Montaine  were  committed 
to  their  resting  place  until  the  trump  at  the  last  day  shall 
awaken  them  to  an  immortalized  life.  The  old  family 
vault  is  again  closed,  and  the  sorrowing  friends  and  grief- 
stricken  relatives  retiring,  leave  him  to  the  quiet,  dreamless 
sleep  of  the  dead  in  Christ. 


THE  YOUNG  HEIR. 


hat  night  closed  in  dark  as  pitch,  Not  a  star  could  be 
discerned  in  the  black,  inky  arch  above.  In  the  after- 
noon the  wind  had  suddenly  shifted  to  the  northwest, 
the  warm,  balmy  air  of  the  morning  disappearing  before 
its  chilly  breath.  A  light  glimmered,  here  and  there, 
through  the  quiet  rooms  of  the  lonely  home,  hushed  into 
quiet  and  gloom  so  suddenly,  then  all  became  dark  as  though 
its  inmates  had  retired,  and  yet  it  was  not  so.  A  busy> 
troubled  brain,  and  two  unclosed  eyes  were  to  be  found  in 
that  large,  dark,  dreary  looking  dwelling,  not  yet  thinking 
of  slumber,  or  temporary  oblivion  to  his  grief. 

In  his  handsome,  elegantly  appointed  study,  Louis  Hon- 
taine  paced  slowly  and  thoughtfully  back  and  forth,  with  a 
pained,  troubled  dissatisfied  countenance,  and  restless,  impa- 
tient step.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome  youth  of  eighteen, 
with  dark  eyes,  gray  in  color  actually,  but  black  they 
seemed,  so  deep  and  intense  was  their  light.  Tall  and  slen- 
der, but  with  so  graceful  and  symmetrical  a  form  that  it  ex- 
cluded all  possibility  of  awkwardness,  or  ungainliness.  His 
step  is  firm,  elastic,  peremptory,  and  that  undoubted 
haughty,  aristocratic  bearing  which  distinguishes  the  native 
South  Carolinian  was  plainly  perceptible  in  his  every  move- 
ment. His  hair  was  dark,  soft,  pliable,  and  ever  arranged 
attractively  on  his  finely  shaped  head.  His  nose  is  perfect ; 
long,  showing  ability,  with  a  faint,  classic  curve  in  the 
centre,  which  makes  the  line  of  beauty.  The  proud,  grace- 
fully poised  head,  the  handsome  eyes  and  nose  are  perfect, 
but  the  mouth  is  not  so  faultless,  being  rather  large,  with  a 
stern  expression  pervading  it  when  in  repose,  but  when  a 
smile  unclosed  his  lips,  white  regular  teeth  were  seen,  and 
the  sudden,  beautiful  light  it  threw  over  the  whole  face 


The  Young  Heir, 


made  him  very  handsome  indeed.  His  smile  was  brilliant, 
and  whether  from  a  knowledge  of  its  enhancing  effect,  or 
the  free,  happy,  joyous  heart  within,  very  frequent.  His 
laugh,  easy,  low  and  sweetly  melodious ;  a  ready  wit ;  an 
intelligent,  eloquent  conversationalist,  gentlemanly,  refined 
and  fascinating  in  manners,  made  him  a  general  favorite. 
Every  one  liked  Louis  Montaine ;  his  friends  and  champi- 
ons were  legion,  and  as  for  the  girls  of  his  acquaintance, 
they  were  all  in  love  with  the  handsome,  fascinating  boy, 
and  all  were  trying  to  win  the  millionaire's  son,  but,  bliss- 
fully ignorant,  he  moved  amidst  them,  his  heart  invulnera- 
ble, untouched  by  the  many  darts  aimed  at  it,  until,  with  a 
sudden  flash,  like  some  glorious  vision,  Irene  Burgoyne 
burst  upon  his  sight,  capturing  without  any  seeming  effort 
the  hitherto  steeled  heart.  But  was  this  madly,  passionate, 
boyish  infatuation  love,  or  only,  as  the  song  goes  : 

"  A  boy's  love  is  like  light  straw  on  fire, 
A  great  beat,  wild  blaze  ;  then  all  is  over." 

Any  one  seeing  him  on  this  night,  in  his  gloomy,  per- 
turbed state,  would  hardly  pronounce  him  handsome,  for  his 
open  brow  is  drawn  in  painful  abstraction,  his  mouth  com- 
pressed into  the  disfiguring  sternness  ;  all  the  brightness, 
the  smile,  the  laugh,  which  made  him  beautiful  banished. 
Now,  that  all  the  excitement  and  show  was  over,  did  he  for 
the  first  time  began  to  realize  what  had  happened,  that  he 
was  an  orphan,  and  by  his  father's  decree  he  was  to  leave  his 
home  and  become  a  stranger  in  a  strange  home,  and 
among  strangers. 

For  a  long  time  he  continued  his  restless  walk,  then  with 
a  weary  sigh,  almost  a  moan  of  anguish,  he  sat  down,  and 
with  folded  arms  gave  himself  up  to  the  conflicting  thoughts 
crowding  his  mental  vision,  taking  shape  in  queries,  re- 
proaches, then  submission. 

"  How  can  I  reconcile  myself  to  sever  thus  suddenly  all 
the  endeared,  pleasant  associations  which  cluster  around 
my  life?  Why  did  father  order  it  that  I  should  leave 
Charleston  ?    If  he  could  trust  all  his  wealth  and  temporal 


20 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


affairs  with  friends  here  why  could  he  not  have  left  me  to 
the  guardianship  of  one,  or  let  me  live  with  Aunt  Harriet, 
instead  of  banishing  me  off  to  a  dull,  monotonous  country, 
and  subjecting  me  to  the  restraint  of  a  clergyman's  home  ? 
Why  did  my  father  wish  all  thi6,  so  repugnant  to  my  feel- 
ings, so  contrary  to  my  wishes,  when  hitherto  he  did  and 
ordered  everything  for  my  happiness  and  complete  satisfac- 
tion ?  Was  it  to  separate  me  from  'Rene  ?  He  knew  how 
dear  she  is  to  me  ;  how  passionately  I  love  her,  and  surely 
he  had  no  serious  wish,  no  such  cruel  intention,  to  mar  my 
future  happiness,  my  present  joy.  I  know  that  he  disap- 
proved of  my  loving  'Rene  with  more  than  cousinly  regard. 
I  know  her  father  was  his  enemy,  but  I  had  hoped  he  would 
overcome  this  prejudice,  and  that  finally  he  would  love 
'Rene,  and  make  us  happy  by  his  sanction,  his  blessing;  but 
he  has  left  me  with  all  my  plans  incomplete,  my  dearest 
hopes  frustrated,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  his  dying 
wish  was  in  favor  of  or  against  my  union  with  the  treasure 
of  my  life — my  darling  Irene.  O  !  father,  father,  why 
did  I  lose  those  last  words  ?  What  were  they  ?  Did  they 
consent  or  prohibit  my  request?  O,  God  !  why  did  I  lose 
those  last  few  words ;  my  whole  life's  happiness  depended 
on  them,  and  I  could  not  hear,  could  not  understand  what 
they  were.  I  saw  his  lips  move  ,  know  he  understood  my 
request  and  answered  it.  but  I  lost  it.  O,  God !  O,  fath- 
er, father  !  "  he  murmured  in  broken,  husky  tones.  "  How 
can  I  act  to  please  thee,  and  honor  thy  beloved  name  ?  What 
must  I  do  to  accomplish  all  you  wished  %  Oh !  that  I  only 
knew  what  was  thy  dying  wish,  and  had  understood  those 
few,  but  lost,  lost  words." 

His  frame  shook  convulsively,  and  his  face  was  white  and 
full  of  pain,  as  he  sprang  up  and  again  began  his  restless 
walk  to  and  fro.  Back  thought  swayed  to  his  past  life,  and 
the  last  dreamily  happy  year  of  his  favored  existence. 
"Yes,"  he  soliloquized,  "now,  that  I  am  to  be  forced  away, 
I  see  what  a  pleasant,  sunny  time  I  have  had,  but  shadows 
are  sure  to  fall  athwart  every  one's  pathway,  and  have  now 
fallen,  heavily,  darkly  across  mine.    I  knew  sorrow  and  pain 


The  Young  Heir. 


was  the  portion  of  humanity,  but  never  realized  it  could 
-come  to  me." 

O,  the  delightful  moonlight  nights,  the  balmy  sum- 
mer afternoons,  spent  so  pleasantly  sailing  around  the 
harbor,  or  along  the  banks  of  the  historic  Ashley  river, 
in  his  own  beautiful  yacht,  in  company  with  boyish  friends 
and  bright,  saucy  girls — one  brighter  and  sweeter  to  him 
than  all.  The  pleasant  drives,  the  nice,  cosy  little  maroon- 
ing parties  and  pleasure  jaunts  on  the  islands,  visiting 
friends  at  their  nourishing,  sumptuous  homes,  gathering 
shells  and  running  from  the  surf,  washing  in  over  the  white, 
shining  beach  from  the  broken  waves,  curling  majestically 
in  from  the  mighty  Atlantic.  Then,  in  the  winter,  the 
charming  hunting  and  dinner  parties,  the  delightful  hours 
at  the  dancing-school,  the  theatre,  the  opera,  the  balls,  in 
all  which  he  bore  a  conspicuous  part,  with  the  relish  and 
eagerness  of  youth,  untrammelled  with  a  single  care.  And 
latterly,  the  zest,  the  sweet  enjoyableness  of  them  all  were 
owing  chiefly,  he  too  well  knew,  to  the  companionship  of 
the  objectionable  Irene  Burgoyne.  All  must  now  be  over, 
he  must  leave  all  these  present  and  past  delightful  realiza- 
tions, for  the  distasteful  routine  of  a  country  life,  and  sep- 
arated, too,  from  his  ardent  young  heart's  idol.  The  thought 
was  bitter,  the  decree  cruel.  The  young  face  grew  stern 
and  hard,  the  step  quicker,  and  more  decidedly  impatient ; 
rebellion  was  in  the  heart,  anger  in  the  eyes.  But  it  was 
only  momentary  ;  he  soon  grew  calmer,  as  other  thoughts 
crowded  in  upon  his  mind,  and  his  lost  parent's  form,  face 
and  fond,  affectionate  love  came  up  before  his  mental  vis- 
ion, and  he  remembered  that  it  had  ever  been  his  pride  and 
pleasure  to  act  and  work  for  his  son's  good  and  happiness. 

"  He  decreed  this  for  my  good,  and  why  should  I  rebel  ?  I 
promised  him  to  go  willingly,  and  why  do  I  shrink  thus 
from  fulfiling  that  sacred  promise  ?  It  will  only  be  for  a 
short  time,  a  few  years,  but,  ah,  will  the  years  be  short  to 
me  now?  I  fear  not;  and  when  I  return,  will  life  be  so 
pleasant  as  of  yore  ?  Are  my  free,  joyous,  careless  days  past  % 
I  feel  the  realities,  the  responsibilities  and  cares  of  another 
2 


22 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


life  are  to  open  before  me,  and  shall  I,  the  son  of  Edwin, 
Montaine,  shrink  from  meeting  them  fearlessly,  and  as  a 
man  should  ?  No,  I  will  not ;  the  honor,  the  untarnished 
honor  of  that  proud  name  is  left  to  my  care,  and  never 
must  I  stain,  but  ever  uphold  it  in  all  of  its  unblemished 
dignity.  I  will  go  forth  now  and  make  it  my  aim  to  return 
and  fill  my  father's  place  ;  not  only  in  name,  but  in  every 
particular.  A  name  that  shines  bright  in  the  memory  of 
all,  I  dare  not,  must  not  dull  or  deface.  Ah  !  how  my 
father  was  beloved,"  he  murmured,  recalling  the  wild  shouts 
of  joy,  and  grinning,  radiant  faces  of  his  hundreds  of 
slaves,  as  he  rode  over  his  plantation,  all  eager  to  get  a  smile 
or  look  of  recognition  from  "  Massa  ; "  the  lighted  faces 
of  every  one  that  heard  his  name  mentioned.  Hundreds 
he  had  heard  sound  his  praises,  and  delighted  to  do  him 
homage. 

And  then  the  home  life  of  that  parent;  how  vividly 
it  came  up  before  him  now,  dispensing  the  elegant  hospi- 
talities of  his  high  social  position  ;  his  kindness  and 
consideration  to  the  slaves,  serving  about  his  sumptuous 
home  ;  his  ever  courteous  demeanor  toward  his  housekeep- 
er, a  dignified  gentlewoman,  who  ably  managed  his  wid- 
owed household,  and,  then,  more  than  all,  his  unwearied 
indulgence  and  patience  to  himself.  Would  he  ever  be  so 
beloved  and  respected  ?  Could  he  ever  fill  the  place  of  his 
lost  parent  ?  It  seemed  impossible.  He  felt  weak,  incapa- 
ble to  attain  to  the  height  of  goodness  and  Christ-like  char- 
acter of  this  wholesouled,  perfect  gentleman,  and  Christian 
man — his  lost  father.  And  yet  he  was  not  a  happy  man. 
There  was  some  hidden,  deep-seated  grief  overshadowing 
his  life  that  often  clouded  the  sunny  face,  and  brought  a 
heavy,  painful  sigh,  laboring  up  from  a  sad,  weary  heart. 
What  was  it  ?  Had  his  dead  young  mother  aught  to  do 
with  it  ?  He  had  heard  his  father  loved  her  intensely,  with 
a  deep,  idolatrous  devotion,  and  that  the  wound  caused  by 
her  early  death  never  healed.  He  recalled  how  often  he 
had  wished  to  speak  of  his  beautiful  young  mother,  but 
could  never  induce  his  father  to  gratify  him  in  this  ardent 


The  Young  Heir. 


23 


desire,  for  he  ever  seemed  loth  to  talk  of  her,  ever  chang- 
ing the  subject  adroitly,  making  him  feel  instinctively  there 
was  some  sad  mystery  attached  to  her  memory.  A  portrait 
of  a  beautiful,  saucy,  smiling  girl,  hung  in  the  gallery.  He 
knew  she  was  only  sixteen  when  it  was  painted,  and  she  had 
been  a  bride  for  several  months.  And  this  was  about  all  he 
knew  definitely  of  the  being  who  had  brought  him  into  ex- 
istence. This  was  the  likeness  of  his  mother,  and  therewith 
he  had  to  be  content,  and  in  utter  disregard  to  God's  com- 
mand, he  lavished  his  whole  heart's  adoration  at  this  shrine. 
The  choicest  fiowers  in  summer,  the  rarest  exotics  in  winter, 
were  plucked  and  daily  laid  there,  and  though  his  heart 
would  tell  him  at  times  that  it  was  idolatry,  yet  the  intense 
longing,  the  hungry  cravings  of  a  soul  for  a  mother's  love, 
made  him  persuade  himself  that  it  was  not  wrong.  Thus 
his  thoughts  swayed  to  the  past,  then  the  present  and  future 
came  under  review.  The  form  and  image  of  another,  an 
earthly  being,  came  vividly  before  him,  and  again  he  ques- 
tioned, was  it  idolatry  ?  Was  it  wrong  to  so  love  this  beau- 
tiful creature  ?  How  the  troublesome  question  tormented 
him.  Could  he  not  wed  a  cousin  without  any  tarnish  rest- 
ing upon  the  bright  escutcheon  of  his  father's  name — a 
name  he  now  held  in  trust  ?  Why  did  his  father  object  to 
his  marriage  with  'Rene  Burgoyne  ?  Could  he  have  had 
any  other  objection  than  their  consanguinity  ?  How  the 
query  troubled  him.  He  loved  Irene  Burgoyne  and  knew 
she  returned  his  love.  No  formal  declaration  had  taken 
place,  but  the  boy,  encouraged  on,  marked  her  as  his  future 
bride,  and  was  only  held  in  check  by  his  father's  disappro- 
val of  setting  his  hopes  at  rest,  by  obtaining  her  consent  to 
their  engagement  in  marriage. 

His  father  had  told  him  he  could  not,  must  not,  wed  his 
cousin.  What  must  he  do  now  ?  Let  it  stand  as  it  was  ? 
Make  no  further  advance.  Then  came  the  thought,  would 
this  be  kind,  right  or  honorable,  when  he  knew  his  cousin 
loved  him,  and  he  had  by  actions  if  not  in  words  made  her 
believe  he  returned  her  love.  Yet,  the  absorbing  desire  of 
his  heart  was  to  do  his  father's  w^ll,  to  carry  out  his  wishes, 
to  honor  his  memory. 


24  ~     The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

Thus  he  weighed  the  matter,  but  could  gain  no  balance 
on  either  side  for  any  definite  decision.  Undecided  and 
greatly  troubled,  he  again  arose  and  paced  the  apartment, 
this  time  with  slow  steps  and  a  deeply  thoughtful  brow. 
Stopping  suddenly,  he  stood  before  his  father's  portrait,  a 
masterly  painting,  taken  a  few  months  before  his  last  and 
fatal  illness,  as  a  birth-day  present  to  himself.  Long  and 
earnestly  he  gazed  upon  each  beloved  feature,  and  the  awful 
realization  of  his  great  loss  came  to  him  him  with  redoubled 
force,  flis  bosom  heaved  convulsively,  and  with  a  sobbing 
moan  of  "  Oh!  father,  father,"  he  threw  himself  in  a  chair 
and  wept  bitterly. 

A  gentle  knock  upon  his  door  disturbed  him  in  this  wild 
burst  of  grief.  Springing  up,  he  dashed  the  tears  away, 
and  with  surprising  quickness  crushed  back  the  struggling 
sobs,  and  with  recovered  outward  calmness,  he  unlocked 
the  door,  admitting  Mrs.  Burgoyne. 

She  looked  pale  and  sad ;  her  eyes  were  swollen  and  red, 
as  if  from  recent  weeping.  A  troubled,  anxious  expression 
pervaded  her  features,  and  a  nervousness  her  manner. 
Without  ceremony,  she  seated  herself  and  said — 

"  I  do  not  like  to  disturb  you,  Louis,  as  it  is  quite  late, 
but  in  a  conversation  this  morning  with  Mr.  Bentley,  I  un- 
derstood he  is  compelled  to  leave  for  home  to-morrow  night. 
He  spoke  as  though  he  thought  you  would  accompany  him, 
but  it  cannot  be  possible,  my  dear  boy,  that  you  will  allow 
yourself  to  be  hurried  off  thus  ?  " 

*  I  am  not  allowing  myself  to  be  hurried  away,  but  go 
with  my  own  free  will,"  was  the  somewhat  sarcastic  reply  ; 
then,  in  an  humble  tone,  he  went  on,  "  I  am  rather  glad  to 
go  so  soon,  Aunt  Harriet.  If  I  am  going  at  all,  what  is 
the  use  of  remaining  a  few  days  or  a  week.  And,  more- 
over, it  is  best  for  me  to  get  to  work  at  once." 

"Perhaps  so,"  was  the  rather  doubtful  rejoinder,  "but, 
Louis,  what  made  your  father  change  his  mind  so  suddenly  ? 
I  thought  you  had  been  admitted  into  our  City  College  ?  " 

"  I  was,  but  it  seems  all  is  changed.  I  do  not  propose  to 
question  my  father's  reasops  any  further  ;  doubtless,  he  had 


J  he  Young  Heir. 


25 


good,  sufficient  cause,  and  I  do  not  pretend  to  fathom  what 
I  cannot  understand.    All  I  know  at  present,  he  wished, 
asked,  that  I  would  leave  the  city  for  the  country.  I 
romised  to  do  so,  and  in  fulfilment  of  that  sacred  promise 

go  with  Mr.  Bentley  to-morrow  night." 

"  But,  Louis,  dear,"  and  the  lady's  tone  was  pleading  and 
persuasive,  "  why  not  stay  a  few  weeks  with  us.  You  need 
rest  and  time  to  arrange  your  affairs,  and  bid  adieu  to  your 
host  of  friends  ;  and,  then,  'Rene,  poor  child,  will  be  so 
shocked  and  grieved  at  your  sudden  departure." 

A  flush  came  to  the  face  of  the  youth;  his  tone  and 
manner  was  a  shade  embarrassed,  but  positive,  amounting 
to  firmness,  as  he  replied — 

"  No,  thank  you,  Aunt  Harriet,  I  would  rather  not  remain 
any  time.  My  promise  was  to  go  with  Mr.  Bentley,  so 
please  do  not  try  to  persuade  me  to  linger.  Surely  you 
would  not  have  me  disregard  my  father's  dying  request  V9 

"  I  know  you  are  always  bent  on  having  your  own  way," 
and  the  lady  tried  to  smile,  but  she  looked  very  anxious  and 
troubled,  "  but  I  take  it  as  very  unkind  in  you.  There  is  no 
urgent  necessity  that  you  should  leave  at  once,  and  espe- 
cially, as  Mr.  Bentley  leaves  to  suit  and  please  yourself." 

Well,  Aunt  Harriet,  it  suits  and  pleases  me  to  leave  to- 
morrow night,''  was  the  decisive  answer,  a  frown  on  his 
brow,  a  touch  of  impatience  and  displeasure  in  his  tone. 

Mrs.  Burgoyne  sighed,  and  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes, 
then  asked  suddenly — 

"  How  are  they  to  manage  about  the  house,  Louis  ?  I 
hear  it  is  to  be  sold  out ;  that  is,  the  furnishings,  and  the 
place  leased  until  you  are  of  age,  but  Mr.  Bentley  says  not ; 
so  how  is  it  ?  " 

'*  Every  thing  is  to  be  left  just  as  it  is.  Mrs.  Reynolds 
will  have  entire  charge ;  see  that  all  goes  on  right.  It  is 
not  necessary  to  disturb  any  thing,  as  I  will  be  absent  only 
a  few  years,  and  there  are  many  things  about  this,  my  home, 
too  dear  and  sacred  to  me  to  be  touched  by  others.  'Rene 
and  the  children  can  have  the  use  of  the  library,  and  I  will 
be  much  obliged  to  you  if  yoi»  will  use  the  horses  so  that 
they  will  get  their  accustomed  exercise." 


26 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


Mrs.  Burgoyne  here  interrupted  him  rather  coldly — 
"  1  thank  you,  Louis,  for  your  kind  offer,  but  I  would 
rather  not  accept  it.  Edwin  ignored  me  and  my  children 
so  completely,  in  willing  his  great  estate  away,  that  I  do  not 
care  to  touch  nor  use  a  pin's  worth  of  it,  as  it  seems  he  did 
not  wish  me  to  have  that  much.  I  expected  some  little 
legacy,  if  only  as  a  token  of  his  remembrance  and  the  old, 
sweet,  brotherly  love  which  I  was  wont  to  receive  from 
him.  It  seems  so  cruel,  heartless,  too,  for  he  knew  how 
Horace  had  run  through  with  my  once  fine  estate,  and  God 
only  knows  how  I  am  to  educate  my  children  without  his 
hoped-for  assistance ;  but,  perhaps,  it  is  best  so.  They  had 
better  go  uneducated  than  to  be  beholden  to  a  wealthy  rel- 
ative who,  it  seems,  did  not  cast  a  thought  upon  their  fu- 
ture." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Louis  Montaine  heard  his 
father  reproached.  His  brows  elevated  with  offended  sur- 
prise ;  a  gleam  of  anger  shot  from  his  eyes,  his  lips  curled 
in  scornful  anger  and  haughtily,  coldly  he  made  answer : 

"You  talk  very  strangely,  Aunt  Harriet,  I  do  not  under- 
stand what  you  mean  ;  but  would  inform  you,  if  you  have 
forgotten  the  fact,  that  my  father  made  his  will  four  years 
ago  without  exceptions  in  my  favor.  He  left  legacies  to 
no  one,  and  I  can  answer  for  him  on  my  own  authority, 
that  he  was  not  aware  of  your  requiring  his  assistance,  for 
at  that  time  you  were  traveling  in  Europe,  and  keeping  up 
a  style  of  living  which  proclaimed  great  means.  Certainly 
he  did  not  know,  and  it  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of 
your  needing  assistance.  If  that  is  the  cause,  how  is  it  that 
Mr.  Burgoyne  can  travel  so  extensively,  and  keep  up  such 
an  expensive  style  of  living  at  fashionable  foreign  capitals? 
The  two  do  not  agree,  I  am  sure,  and  how  could  my  father 
understand  you  required  his  leaving  you  a  legacy  ? 

"  Ah!"  said  the  lady  bitterly,  a  red  glow  on  her  wan  cheek, 
"  what  is  it  but  that  which  has  devoured  my  once  ample 
inheritance?  Who  but  my  husband,  the  one  who  should 
cherish,  and  do  for  me  and  his  children,  that  is  ravishing 
my  all  and  reducing  me  to#beggary  by  his  extravagance  and 


The  Young  Heir. 


2/ 


Tash  career.  Ah,  Louis,  you  speak  harshly  and  think  I 
blame  your  father  unjustly  ;  but  he  knew  all  this,  and  has 
left  me  to  pay  the  penalty  of  a  wrong  done  him  by  my 
husband.  But  I  see  you  are  offended,  astonished  to  hear  me 
talk  so,  and  perhaps  I  am  wrong ;  woman-like  I  talk  too 
fast  sometimes,  and  did  not  mean  to  blame  your  father  for, 
thinking  of  it  more  carefully,  1  see  four  years  ago  and  now 
is  quite  different,  and  then,  poor  Edwin,  he  was  taken  away 
so  suddenly,  how  could  he  think  of  me  and  mine  ?  But  I 
hear  he  has  made  a  good  provision  for  Mr.  Bentley  ;  suffi- 
cient remuneration  for  six  boarders  instead  of  one.  Why, 
he  has  allowed — " 

"  Excuse  me,  Aunt  Harriet  for  interrupting  you,  but  we 
will  not  discuss  that  subject  if  you  please.  Unquestionably 
my  father  knew  what  he  was  doing.  You  do  not  suppose 
he  would  consider  to  a  fraction  what  I  would  eat  and  drink, 
and  pay  accordingly  %  I  do  not  like  to  hear  you  censuring 
my  father,  it  is  unjust  to  his  memory,  cruel  and  unkind  to 
me  ;  I  protest,  that  he  knew  not  of  your  precarious  condi- 
tion, and  was  not  influenced  in  neglecting  you  by  a  spirit 
of  vengeance  for  what  Mr.  Burgoyne  did  to  wrong  him. 
You  are  mistaken  in  thinking  any  thing  so  sinful  of  him. 
My  father  was  a  good  man,  and  a  forgiving  Christian,  and 
no  one  can  make  me  think  otherwise.'' 

"I  did  not  want  to  make  you  think  otherwise,  Louis. 
Do  I  not  know  your  father  was  good  ?  But  I  am  jealous  and 
fearful,  Louis;  I  am  provoked  to  think  you  are  sent  off 
from  my  care  ;  why  could  you  not  have  been  left  with  me, 
your  aunt  ?  I  suppose  you  will  return  to  us  in  a  few  years 
an  earthly  saint,  contemplating  studying  for  holy  orders, 
marrying  the  parson's  lovely  daughter  (for  I  hear  he  has 
such),  renouncing  the  world  and  its  wicked  pomps  and 
vanities,  etc.,"  and  the  lady  laughed  a  painful,  constrained 
laugh. 

The  boy  looked  at  his  aunt  with  mingled  surprise  and 
pain  stamped  upon  his  expressive  face,  and  said  in  a 
troubled  tone  of  voice  : 

"  You  wound  and  disturb  me  beyond  words,  Aunt  Har- 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Wtb  of  Life. 


riet.  I  do  not  deserve  this  from  you,  and  especially  now 
when  I  am  so  unhappy." 

"J  know  you  do  not,  forgive  me  my  dear  boy  ;  but  I  am 
so  jealous,  so  angry  to  think  you  will  leave  us  so  soon,  to 
know  others  will  come  in  between  us,  win  your  love  from 
us  perhaps.  Louis,  you  do  not  know  how  dear  you  are  to 
my  heart,  and  it  is  agony  to  have  you  snatched  away  from 
me  so  suddenly.  Oh !  it  is  hard,  hard  to  let  you  go  ;  and 
then,  poor,  dear  'Rene,  what  will  she  do  ?  It  will  shock, 
pain  her  beyond  endurance  when  she  learns  your  decision. 
She  expects  you  will  stay  with  us  for  a  few  weeks  at  least. 
Do  you  know,  is  it  wrong  for  me  to  tell  what  perhaps  is 
her  secret,  that  'Rene  loves  you  passionately,  devotedly  and 
jealously?  I  know  you  admire,  and  have  thought  you  were 
very  warmly  attached  to,  your  beautiful  cousin,  and  had 
hoped  to  claim  you  as  a  son  one  of  these  days,  and  am  1 
wrong  in  wishing  this?  God  knows  it  is  not  for  the 
worldly  honor  and  aggrandisement  she  would  win  as  your 
wife,  but  it  is  the  happiness  of  a  beautiful  and  dearly  be- 
loved child  I  crave.  Edwin  knew  all  this,  and  why  does  he 
banish  you  away  if  it  is  not  to  try  and  interfere,  to  break 
up  the  germ  of  love  in  two  loving  young  hearts  ?  You  it 
will  not  kill ;  men's  hearts  are  not  easily  broken  ;  but,. 
Louis,  Irene's  life's  happiness  is  in  your  hands ;  she  would 
scorn  to  tell  you  so,  and  would  be  angry,  and  deeply  morti- 
fied to  know  I  had  so  disclosed  a  sacredly  guarded  secret ; 
but  I  am  her  mother  and  cannot  tamely  stand  by  and  see 
her  suffer  in  silence.  A  girl's  heart  is  no  trifling,  light 
thing  with  which  to  play,  to  be  cast  aside  through  a  sense 
of  duty  to  a  prejudice  of  your  father's.  'Rene  should  not 
be  made  answerable  for  some  wrong  done  by  her  father  to 
yours ;  I  think  that  unjust,  cruel,  dishonorable,  to  win  a 
girl's  heart  then  cast  it  aside  because  your  father  was,  years 
ago,  wronged  in  some  way  by  hers.  Why  should  'Rene,, 
poor  child,  suffer  because  of  this  feud  between  Edwin  and 
Horace  ?  I  cannot  see  the  justice  in  it,  but  look  upon  it 
as  heartless  prejudice  and  nothing  more  or  less." 

The  lady  had  spoken  passionately,  rapidly,  and  now,  as 


The  Young  Heir. 


29 


if  exhausted,  lay  back  in  her  chair,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

"Aunt  Harriet,"  said  the  youth  gently,  "I  understand 
your  motives,  and  do  not  blame  you  ;  but  you  mistake  my 
father.  I  would  not  believe  he  died  unforgiving  a  wrong 
done  him  ;  he  was  too  good  and  entirely  a  Christian  not  to 
forget  and  forgive ;  but,  Aunt  Harriet,  if  you  please,  we 
will  not  discuss  the  subject  any  further  to-night.  I  am 
very  sad,  tired  and  confused ;  I  will  come  over  in  the 
morning  and  see  'Rene.  Rest  assured  I  will  try  and  do 
what  is  right,  so  good  night." 

"  Good  night,  my  dear,  dear  boy  ;  forgive  me  if  I  have 
said  aught  to  hurt  your  feelings,  I  did  not  intend  it  if  I 
did ;  I  hope  it  will  all  be  well  finally;  again,  good  night," 
and  putting  her  arms  about  the  boy  she  drew  him  to  her 
in  a  warm,  motherly  embrace,  and  kissing  him  affection- 
ately, left  the  room  without  another  word. 

Leaning  his  head  on  the  mantel,  Louis  Montaine  stood 
for  several  minutes  in  a  deep,  questioning  reverie,  then 
rousing  himself  he  turned  down  the  gas  and  retired  to  rest, 
a  strange  look  of  some  sudden  resolve  upon  his  face,  a  glit- 
ering  light  in  his  deep,  intense  eye,  as  he  murmured,  "I  see 
no  way  of  escape,  I  must  marry  'Rene." 


THE  PARSONAGE. 


St.  church  was  a  plain,  unassuming,  but  neat  little 

edifice,  situated  on  one  of  the  principal  streets  of  the  town 

of  S  ,  enclosed  with  a  low  stone  wall,  and  surrounded 

by  well  kept  graveyard.  The  parsonage  and  residence  of 
Mr.  Bentley  stood  a  block  from  it  on  a  quiet,  retired  street. 
It  is  a  plain,  comfortable  old  country-house,  very  plainly 
but  neatly  furnished.  An  air  of  industry  and  thriftiness  per- 
vaded the  whole  place  within  and  without.  The  old-fash- 
ioned furniture  was  well  polished  and  dusted,  the  sofa  and 
chair  backs  preserved  and  adorned  by  crochet  tidies  ,  the 
snowy  walls  are  hung  with  family  portraits,  and  some  fine 
scenery  paintings.  The  window  panes  are  clear  and  spot- 
less against  the  dark  curtains  draped  aside  to  admit  all  the 
light  possible ;  plain  dark  carpets  are  upon  the  floor,  the 
glass  and  silverware  on  the  old-fashioned  sideboard,  was 
clear  and  highly  polished  ;  the  pantry,  with  its  glassy  china 
and  shiny  milk-pans,  was  a  study  of  neatness,  showing  that 
a  nice,  industrious  house-wife  reigned  there.  The  cham- 
bers and  kitchen  all  corresponded,  plain,  clean  and  comfor- 
table, with  no  pretensions  of  elegance  or  fashion.  Such 
was  the  parsonage,  the  home  of  Mr.  Bently  and  his  family, 
and  such  the  home  in  which  the  millionaire's  son  was  soon 
to  be  installed.  He  who  had  been  reared  with  grandeur 
and  elegance  at  every  step ;  beauty  and  costliness  to  meet 
his  every  glance  ;  taste,  refinement  and  luxuries  on  every 
side. 

The  change  to  him  would  be  great,  and  would  he  like  it? 
Sent  there  by  an  earthly  parent's  solicitous  care,  to  evade  a 
great  evil,  as  he  deemed  it ;  yet,  wa6  there  not  a  higher,  • 
guiding  hand  in  it  ?  Louis  Montaine  was  about  to  open  a 
new  page  in  his  life's  history ;  to  discover  and  unravel  a 


The  Parsonage. 


31 


hidden  mystery,  which  he  instinctively  felt  lurked  about  his 
pathway  ;  to  find  out  and  experience  the  darker  side  of 
life,  for  hitherto  he  had  only  walked  in  sunny,  pleasant 
places;  to  feel  pain,  anguish,  and  disappointment,  and  find 
out  that  wealth  and  high  birth  cannot  purchase  happiness, 
nor  give  you  all  you  want. 

The  night  which  Louis  Montaine,  filled  with  thoughts  of 
the  past  and  future,  walked  his  room  and  tried  to  see  before 
him  what  his  new  life  would  prove  to  be,  closed  in  dark, 

cold  and  frosty  at  S  .     But  within  the  parlor  at  the 

parsonage,  all  was  bright,  cosy  and  warm.  The  curtains 
were  drawn  in,  as  if  to  keep  out  the  bleak  wind  that  howled 
around  the  house.  A  large  oak  fire  burned  cheerily  in  the 
broad  chimney-place,  and  in  front  of  it  a  table  was  drawn, 
upon  which  a  lamp  burned  clearly. 

Mary,  Harry  and  Florence,  the  three  eldest  of  Mr.  Bent- 
ley's  children,  were  seated  around  it,  while  Mrs.  Bentley 
sat  a  little  apart  with  her  two  other  children,  Lillian  and 
Edwin.  She  was  a  small,  delicate-looking  lady,  with  fair 
hair,  kindly,  blue-gray  eyes  and  a  gentle,  quiet  face. 

Mary,  or  Masie,  as  she  was  called,  the  eldest,  was  a  young 
lady  of  twenty.  She  was  neither  handsome,  beautiful  nor 
pretty,  but  her  face  was  interesting,  her  dark  eyes  gentle 
and  full  of  love-glances,  while  goodness  hovered  around  the 
small  mouth,  which  was  ever  ready  to  unclose  itself  in 
words  of  love,  patience  and  sweet  charity;  she  looked  what 
she  really  was,  a  self-sacrificing,  gentle  girl,  and  an  humble, 
consistent  Christian.  She  was  industriously  knitting,  while 
an  expression  of  deep  thought  and  concern  rested  upon  her 
expressive  countenance. 

Harry  was  just  nineteen,  a  fair-haired,  studious  youth. 
Books  were  before  him,  but,  just  now,  he  seemed  rather  in- 
clined te-  think,  than  either  to  read  or  study. 

Florence  was  seventeen,  and  quite  pretty.  A  fair,  grace- 
ful girl,  with  delicately-cut  features,  soft,  shy,  brown  eyes, 
long,  silky  lashes,  and  a  queenly-poised  head,  with  a  wealth 
of  clustering,  brown  ringlets.  She  wears  a  dark  dress  and 
dainty  crimson  sacque,  which  shows  to  advantage  her  rich, 


32 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


pure  complexion,  and  adds  a  deeper  hue  to  the  soft,  rosy 
cheeks  and  cherry  mouth. 

Her  small,  white  hands  lie  idly  on  the  table,  while  her 
eyes,  dreamy  and  thoughtful,  are  fixed  upon  a  book  before 
her,  but  she,  al?o,  seems  more  inclined  to  think  than  to 
study ;  in  fact,  thinking  seems  to  be  the  prevailing  inclina- 
tion, for  very  little  is  said,  except  by  the  little  ones,  who 
appear  to  keep  up  a  steady  flow  of  chatting  with  each  other, 
ever  and  anon  addressing  "mamma"  or  "Masie." 

A  click  at  the  gate,  a  hasty,  running  step  ascends  the 
stairs  and  comes  through  the  piazza  ;  the  door  is  thrown 
open  and  a  handsome,  saucy-faced  youth  of  nineteen  enters 
unannounced. 

A  soft  flush  diffuses  itself  over  the  face  of  Miss  Florence, 
making  her  look  still  prettier,  while  a  look  of  general  in- 
terest is  manifested  by  the  others. 

"  A  good  evening  to  one  and  all.  It  is  rather  late  for  a 
visitor,  I  presume,  but  it  was  too  dull  at  home,  and  too 
early  to  retire.  Mother  has  one  of  her  sick-headaches,  Aunt 
Lucy  is  waiting  on  her,  while  Lottie  is  dreaming  over  some 
book  or  other,  but  in  fact  thinking  about  the  new  arrival. 
She  is  really  interested  in  the  matter,  and  if  you,  boys,  do 
not  look  sharp,  you  will  lose  all  chance  in  the  future." 

He  had  been  warming  by  the  fire  while  speaking,  and 
now,  with  a  significant  glance  at  Harry,  he  drew  a  chair  to 
the  table,  and  gazing  admiringly  at  the  pretty  girl  before 
him,  continued : 

"And,  T  presume,  you  are  as  bad,  Florence  ?  for  certainly 
you  look  unusually  pretty  and  interested." 

"Why,  Hal,  what  will  become  of  us  when  this  handsome 
city  chap  is  around  ?  1  am  fearful  he  will  prove  a  formida- 
ble rival,  the  way  things  look." 

They  all  laughed,  Harry  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
Florence  asked,  laughingly  : 

"How  do  you  know  he  is  handsome,  Arthur  ?" 

"I  take  that  for  granted,  but  do  not  look  so  pleased  about 
it,  or  I  will  soon  make  him  ugly." 

"Fie,  fie,  Arthur,"  said  Masie,  laughing  merrily.  "You 


The  Parsonage. 


33 


really  do  look  venomous,  but  I  do  not  think  you  will  have 
serious  cause  to  be  jealous,  for  Flo  thinks  you  are  the 
handsomest  boy  living." 

"Is  that  so?"  and  he  colored  and  laughed.  "I  thank  you 
for  the  information." 

"Masie  gives  it  unauthorized,  and  lam  not  so  sure  but  that 
I  may  meet  some  one  a  great  deal  handsomer,  one  of  these 
days ;"    and  she  looked  provokingly  in  earnest. 

"Come,  do  not  tease  him,  Flo ;  1  venture  Mr.  Montaine 
will  not  put  himself  in  any  one's  way.  You  may  be  sure, 
he  will  leave  a  lady  love  behind,  or  he  is  not  a  young 
American." 

"Do  hush,  Masie,  you  blame  us  ?  Why,  Mr.  Fred  is  jeal- 
ous about  it.'' 

The  young  lady  blushed  and  laughingly  said,  "I  declare, 
Arthur,  you  are  too  bad." 

"So  every  one  tells  me.  But,  Mrs.  Bentley,  what  do  you 
think  about  the  arrangement  ?  Harry,  I  know,  does  not  like 
it  at  all.  Florence  is  quite  pleased,  to  be  able  to  show  a  city 
chap  that  country  girls  are  pretty  and  charming;  Masie  is 
anxious  to  have  one  more  to  wait  upon  and  do  for,  but  I 
have  not  heard  your  opinion  yet  ?" 

"Well,  Arthur,  I  have  to  confess,  I  do  not  like  it  much. 
I  fear  it  will  be  too^great  a  care  and  responsibility  to  suit 
and  please  one  reared  so  differently  from  my  children  ;  but 
Mr.  Bentley  writes  that  he  is  a  very  gentlemanly,  nice  boy, 
and  seems  to  anticipate  no  trouble  or  annoyance  from  it. 
Pecuniarily,  it  will  most  certainly  be  a  great  advantage,  so 
I  must  be  willing  to  have  some  trouble  and  inconvenience, 
for  money  is  in  great  demand  at  present.  I  am  very  sorry 
Harry  does  not  like  it.  My  son,  you  must  try  and  cultivate 
a  friendly  spirit  and  put  aside  that  morbid  prejudice,  and 
meet  him  kindly.  Remember,  he  is  an  orphan,  and  will  be 
a  stranger,  and  as  such  demands  a  cordial  greeting.  Ar- 
thur, he  will  be  a  neighbor,  and  fellow-student,  and  give 
him  the  hearty,  kind  reception,  of  which  you  are  so  capa- 

*%  for  one,  am  very  willing,  and  intend  to  meet  him 


34 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


friendly  and  courteously,  providing  he  does  not  put  on  airs. 
These  rich,  patronizing  upstarts  are  my  abhorrence  ;  and  if 
he  dares  to  interfere  with  me,  in  a  certain  quarter,  we  will 
draw  swords,  you  may  be  sure." 

And  he  glanced  significantly  at  Florence,  who  laughing- 
ly rejoined : 

"You  are  very  particular,  Arthur,  to  let  me  know  how  I 
can  tease  you." 

"Come,  leave  all  this  raillery  and  listen  seriously  to  me,'' 
here  called  Masie,  tapping  on  the  table  with  her  hand. 

"I  wish,  and  propose,  that  we  all  meet  young  Mr.  Mon- 
taine  as  a  friend  and  brother.  Let  there  be  no  reserve,  no 
backwardness,  in  any  one  of  us.  His  father  and  papa  were 
old,  tried  friends,  and  the  son  of  one  and  the  children  of 
the  other  ought  to  continue  that  friendship.  Let  there  be 
no  restraint,  which  might  be  interpreted  as  coolness.  As 
we  will  meet  papa  with  loving  embraces,  it  would  be  chil- 
ling to  any  nature  to  be  shy  and  unsocial  toward  him,  and 
in  this  case,  unkind  and  cruel,  for  he  has  just  been  bereft  of 
his  father,  and  has  neither  mother,  father,  sister  nor  brother. 
All  his  wealth  cannot  compensate  nor  satisfy  this  great  void 
in  his  life.  Trust  papa's  reasons  for  bringing  us  another 
friend  and  brother,  and  heartily  join  me  in  my  views. 
Whose  voice  first  V 

"Mine,  Masie,"  spoke  up  Arthur  Howard,  promptly,  un- 
hesitatingly. 

"And,  mine,  mine,"  echoed  Harry  and  Florence. 

Lillian  and  Edwin  added  their  voices,  protesting  that 
they  were  glad  to  have  another  "big  bubber,"  if  he  was 
good,  like  Harry. 

"And,  mamma/'  asked  Masie,  "what  say  you  ?" 

"You  can  certainly  count  upon  me,  my  dear.  I  did  not 
for  an  instant  have  any  other  idea  than  to  meet  and  con- 
tinue kind  to  a  ward  your  father  has  seen  fit  to  adopt  into 
his  family,  and  I  am  very  happy  and  relieved  to  hear  the 
unanimous  voice  of  all  to  do  the  same." 

"Yes,  and  so  am  I,  but  I  must  see  about  putting  these 
two  sleepy  little  darlings  to  bed,"-  and  Masie  Bentley  arose. 


The  Parsonage. 


35 


"Come  Lillie,  and  Edwin,  it  is  time  to  retire.  Papa  will  be 
here  to-morrow  night  with  our  new  brother,  and  then  we 
will  be  so  happy,  eh  V 

And  so  saying,  the  affectionate  sister  left  the  room  with 
the  children. 

There  was  a  slight  pause  in  the  conversation  after  her  de- 
parture, then  Arthur  proposed  a  game  of  chess  to  Florence, 
and,  accepting  it,  they  retired  to  a  corner  table,  where  they 
moved  more  in  love  than  in  the  game,  methinks. 

The  mother  and  son  chatted  quietly  together  until  the 
entrance  of  Masie,  an  hour  later,  when  Mrs.  Bentley  read 
the  evening  prayers.  An  evening  hymn  was  sung,  in  which 
all  joined  heartily,  and  the  visitor  departing,  this  happy, 
God-loving  family,  bid  each  other  an  affectionate  good-night 
and  retired. 


SHADOWS. 


handsome,  stylish  boudoir  of  gold,  violet  and  pale 
green  ;  pretty,  gay,  French  ornaments  scattered  taste- 
fully about ;  bright,  warbling  birds  skipping  cheerily 
around  their  gilded  cages,  which  hung  at  the  low  west  win- 
dows, where  the  declining  rays  of  the  sun  cast  a  ruddy 
glow  and  gleamed  through,  in  a  golden  halo,  across  the  pale 
green,  velvety  carpet,  upon  which  lay,  enjoying  a  comfort- 
able nap,  "  Miss  Lily,"  a  delicate  French  poodle.  The  cheery 
tick  of  a  pretty  clock  upon  the  low  marble  mantle,  the 
sweet  strains  of  a  music  box  upon  a  table,  the  happy  songs 
of  the  several  birds,  bright,  pretty  bric-a-brac,  and  handsome, 
gay  furnishings  made  it  a  pleasant,  inviting  looking  room, 
but  not  at  all  corresponding  with  its  proprietress  at  present, 
who  sat  absorbed  in  a  deep  and  seemingly  painful  and 
conflicting  reverie,  unconscious  of  all  outer  life,  wrapped 
completely  in  thoughts  of  the  sudden  change  and  care  which 
had  fallen  over  her  hitherto  gay,  careless,  young  life. 

Irene  Burgoyne  is  beautiful,  a  gloriously  beautiful  girl ; 
a  blonde  of  the  most  pronounced  type  with  pale,  golden- 
hued  hair,  soft,  pure  complexion  and  eyes,  large,  ravishing, 
bewildering  eyes  of  a  luminous  blue.  Attired  in  an  ebony- 
hued,  trained  robe  de  c/iamhre,  her  tall,  elegantly  graceful 
form  is  shown  to  its  greatest  advantage,  and  rendering  her 
fair,  blonde  beauty  startlingly  conspicuous.  Irene  Bur- 
goyne is  winning  or  resplendent,  just  as  she  wills  it.  When 
desiring  to  please  she  is  inexpressibly  sweet,  gracious,  even 
bewitching ;  but  naturally  of  a  haughty,  rather  scornful 
disposition,  she  is  not  a  universal  favorite.  Her  great  per- 
sonal beauty  won  for  her  many  admirers ;  but  she  had  few 
real  friends.  Petted  and  spoiled  by  fond  parents,  who  were 
droud  of  their  lovely  daughter,  she  naturally  became  way- 


Shadows. 


37 


ward  and  exacting,  and  very  vain,  expecting  every  one  to 
bow  in  homage  to  her  supreme  charms.  Never  denied  a 
wish,  gratification  or  fancy,  she  had  learned  to  look  upon 
life  as  a  golden  dream,  never  imagining  that  it  could  be 
otherwise,  or  that  there  was  a  stern  reality. 

Her  qualifications  were  more  showy  than  solid  ;  more  of 
the  mind  than  of  the  heart.  She  sang  6weetly,  was  some- 
what an  artist  in  drawing  and  painting,  conversed  quite 
fluently  and  with  graceful  adaptation  in  the  French  and 
Italian  languages.  In  dancing  she  most  excelled,  and, 
being  fond  of  music,  she  was  an  admirable  performer 
on  the  pianoforte.  And  these  accomplishments,  added  to 
her  seductive  beauty,  made  her  shine  a  star  of  some  magni- 
tude in  society.  And  is  it  any  wonder  that  when,  one  year 
before,  just  returning  with  fresh  laurels  from  a  Parisian 
college,  she  burst  like  some  glorious  vision  across  the  every- 
day life  of  her  lonely  young  cousin,  that  he  should  fall  a 
ready  victim  to  her  charms,  and  learn  so  easily  to  lay  his 
heart's  adoration  at  her  shrine  ? 

When  his  father  objected,  or  looked  his  disapproval,  he 
wondered  and  felt  indignant  that  his  hitherto  indulgent 
parent  could  be  so  unreasonable  and  hard.  What  was  his 
objections  he  could  not  find  out  or  divine.  Once  his 
father  said,  with  anger  in  his  looks  and  a  determined  light 
flashing  from  his  eyes,  which  were  wont  ever  to  gaze  with 
the  tenderest  affection  and  approval  upon  his  child,  that  he 
dared  not,  should  not,  marry  the  daughter  of  Horace  Bur- 
goyne !  The  son  rebelled,  protesting  that  he  should,  if  his 
father  would  not  give  him  his  objections  against  this  union 
which  promised  so  much  happiness.  The  father  refused, 
but  reiterated  that  no  child  of  his  should  marry  the  child 
of  Horace  Burgoyne.  A  quarrel  ensued,  a  brief  but  severe 
quarrel.  It  had  passed  of  without  satisfaction  to  either 
party  and  tranquillity  seemed  restored,  but  in  his  blind, 
headlong  infatuation  the  son  failed  to  see  the  deep,  almost 
agonized  pain  gathering  day  by  day  upon  the  face  of  his 
fond  and  dear  father,  whose  whole  soul  and  mind  had  ever 
been  centered  on  the  happiness  and  welfare  of  his  son.  The 

3 


33 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


fear  of  an  open  revolt,  and  determined  opposition  on  the 
part  of  his  son,  kept  the  parent  silent :  but  he  looked  on 
disapprovingly,  while  at  heart  he  was  ever  striving  to  devise 
some  plan  to  break  the  fatal  spell  which  held  his  child  in 
its  power.  But  death  came,  and  the  son,  not  understanding 
fully  his  fathers  determined  efforts  to  save  him  from  what 
that  parent  deemed  a  terrible  evil,  felt  somewhat  assured 
that  the  opposition  had  been  withdrawn,  or  forgotten,  for 
during  his  father's  severe  and  fatal  illness  he  had  never,  by 
word  or  look,  alluded  to  the  subject,  although  ever  con- 
scious, and  his  son  his  constant  companion  and  devoted  at- 
tendant. 

Irene  Burgoyne  loved  intensely,  but  selfishly  and  jeal- 
ously, her  handsome  young  cousin.  And  now,  as  she  sits 
in  her  pretty  boudoir  thinking  over  the  past  few  days  of 
trouble  and  anguish  that  had  befallen  the  object  of  her 
love,  she  ponders  the  all-important  question,  how  he  would 
now  act ;  whether  he  would  discard  her.  in  obedience  to  his 
deceased  parent's  wishes,  or  remain  faithful  to  his  heart's 
promptings?  And  pondering  it  she  is  miserably  uneasy  and 
fearful.  Irene  Burgoyne  knows  her  heart  too  well ;  knows 
that  to  win  Louis  Montaine  is  to  secure  for  herself  a  heaven 
on  earth;  to  lose  him  is  to  shut  out  all  joy  and  happiness 
from  her  future  life.  It  is  the  first  real  trial  of  her  favored 
existence  ;  her  first  experience  that  life  is  not  all  joy  and 
gladness.  And,  as  the  realization  of  this  experience  comes 
to  her  she  lays  her  head  upon  her  clasped  hands  and  moans, 
out,  as  a  child  would,  with  her  first  keen  sorrow  :  u  Oh ! 
Louis,  Louis ;  they  will  send  you  away  from  me,  but  will 
you  be  true  to  me,  your  loving,  and  I  know  beloved  'Rene,' 
or  will  you  sacrifice  my  happiness,  my  very  life,  sacrifice 
all  to  satisfy  your  fathers  unreasonable  prejudice  T 

A  few  hours  later  Irene  Burgoyne  is  again  in  her  pretty 
boudoir  alone,  attired  in  a  toilet  of  rich  black  silk,  profusely 
trimmed,  and,  as  if  in  a  mockery  for  mourning,  she  wears 
jet  ornaments,  save  a  brilliant  gem  which  glitters  upon  her 
shapely  white  hand.  A  smile  rests  upon  her  lovely  face, 
yet  the  light  within  her  lustrous  eyes  shows  not  a  wholly 


Shadows. 


39 


satisfied  heart.  She  knows,  as  she  looks  upon  the  costly 
diamond  which  circles  her  finger,  and  feels  the  imprint  of 
a  lover's  passionate  kiss  still  upon  her  lips,  that  she  is  the 
plighted  bride  of  the  youth  she  so  ardently  loves  ;  but  some 
subtle  fear,  some  secret,  inexplicable  foreboding  robs  her 
of  the  peace  and  sweet  joy  this  knowledge  should  bring  and 
she  feels  that  she  is  not  happy,  that  a  care,  shadowy  per- . 
haps,  but  a  care,  rests  upon  her  hitherto  careless,  jovful 
life. 

Outside,  on  the  street,  Louis  Montaine  stood  irresolute. 
The  night  was  dark  and  chilly,  the  wind  whistling  mourn- 
fully through  the  trees.  It  was  just  half-past  nine.  One 
hour  later  he  would  be  on  his  way  to  the  home  his  deceased 
father  had  chosen  for  him  during  his  orphaned  minority — 
rattling  away  from  his  boyhood's  home,  and  from  the  beau- 
tiful girl  he  thought  he  loved  so  passionately.  He  looked 
up  at  the  closed,  silent  mansion  he  had  called  home,  and 
loved  as  such,  and  a  convulsive  shudder  shook  his  frame, 
while  his  face  grew  livid  from  the  keen  anguish  of  his  heart 
as  the  re-awakened  realization  came  to  him  that  his  dear, 
lost  parent  had  been  carried  out  from  its  portals  never  to 
return. 

"  Oh,  father,  father !"  he  moaned  in  bitterness  of  spirit, 
"how  can  I  live  without  you?" 

He  took  a  step  to  cross  the  street,  but  hesitated  ;  then,  as 
•if  with  a  sudden  determination,  strode  rapidly  forward  and 

did  not  slack  his  speed  until  reaching  St.  P  church, 

when  he  lightly  sprang  over  the  iron  railing  fence,  and  ap- 
proached the  gleaming  marble  monument  he  knew  so  well 
at  the  final  resting  place  of  his  young  mother,  now  doubly 
sacred  and  precious  as  that  of  his  father  also.  The  sight  of 
it  completely  unmanned  him,  and,  throwing  himself  on  the 
ground  beside  it,  he  gave  way  to  a  violent  burst  of  grief. 

How  vividly  that  dear  father's  face  and  form  came  up 
before  him,  that  face  and  form  now  cold  and  still  in  death, 
and  as  he  thought  of  him  the  edge  of  his  grief  was  sharp- 
ened by  the  pangs  of  remorse,  for  his  first  act  had  been 


40 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


one  of  disobedience,  or  at  least  an  utter  disregard  to  one  of 
his  lost  parent's  wishes.  All  his  father's  looks  of  disap- 
proval, his  words  and  actions  prohibiting  his  love  for  the 
beautiful  'Rene  came  vividly  before  his  mental  vision,  and 
in  an  agonized  cry  he  called  out,  "  Oh,  father,  father  !  speak 
to  me  ;  tell  me  you  did  not  die  still  unwilling  that  I  should 
marry  'Rene  !"  But  no  sound  came  from  the  silent  tomb,, 
and  the  anguished  son  moaned,  as  he  knelt  with  clasped 
hands,  and  eyes  full  of  pain  raised  toward  Heaven.  "  My 
God!  what  shall  I  do?  If  I  had  only  caught  those  few 
uttered  but  indistinct  words  it  would  have  been  everything 
to  me.  But  no  ;  I  saw  his  lips  move,  I  saw  his  eyes  open 
and  look  consciously  at  me  ;  I  know  he  answered  me,  but 
not  a  sound,  not  a  syllable  did  I  hear.  Oh,  father !  my 
father,  my  father  !"  What  a  world  of  pain,  loneliness  and 
contrition  was  in  that  pleading  but,  ah,  now  useless  cry ! 

Regardless  of  the  cold  he  felt  there,  he  leaned  his  throb- 
bing head  against  the  icy  marble,  the  deep  poignancy  of 
his  sorrow  making  him  lose  all  consciousness  of  physical 
sense.  Suddenly  he  is  called  back  to  life,  you  may  say,  by 
the  clear  strokes  of  the  town-clock  ringing  the  hour  of  ten. 
Springing  up,  he  gave  one  last,  lingering  look  at  the  tomb 
of  his  parents,  glanced  up  at  the  dear  old  church  he  loved 
so  well,  and  the  next  minute  was  out  on  the  street  again, 
fully  realizing  that  very  soon  miles  would  divide  him  from 
all  that  was  dear,  beloved  and  sacred. 

How  his  eyes  scanned  the  home  of  his  young  heart's  de- 
votion, as  he  followed  Mr.  Bentley,  and  with  that  gentle- 
man took  his  place  in  the  carriage ;  and  even  when  they 
drove  off,  he  watched  the  glimmering  light  he  knew  to  be 
in  her  boudoir,  until,  turning  out  of  the  street,  it  was  lost 
to  his  strained  vision  ;  when,  with  a  deep  sigh,  and  settled 
gloom  falling  across  his  face,  he  drew  away  into  a  corner 
of  the  carriage  sad  and  silent.  Had  his  ardent  love  for 
this  beautiful  cousin  again  risen  paramount,  stilling  the 
pangs  of  remorse,  and  setting  his  lost  father's  wishes  at 
naught  ? 

In  the  dusk  of  a  winter's  early  nightfall,  as  they  were: 


Shadows. 


41 


rapidly  Bearing  their  destination,  the  rather  disjointed 
conversation  which  had  taken  place  between  Mr.  Bentley 
and  his  ward  during  the  day,  became  more  general ;  and, 
now  it  was  that  the  nature  of  Louis  Montaine  asserted  itself, 
the  artificial  gloom  and  reserve  of  the  time  passing  away 
before  his  naturally  pleasant,  happy  disposition.  He  talked 
freely  of  his  past  life,  about  his  father,  tenderly  and  rever- 
ently, and  in  referring  to  his  young  mother,  he  inquired  if 
Mr.  Bentley  had  known  her,  and  on  being  answered  in  the 
negative,  went  on  thoughtfully  : 

"It  seems  that  I  can  meet  no  one  that  ever  knew  my 
mother  intimately,  and  I  could  never  induce  my  father  to 
speak  about  her,  as  I  often  wished  he  would.  I  have  never 
heard  it,  but  it  haunts  me  that  some  mystery  is  attached  to 
her  latter  life  and  early  death.  Did  you,  Mr.  Bentley, 
ever  hear  him  say  aught  of  her?  I  know  you  were  very 
dear  friends." 

"Yes,  we  were  dear  friends,  but  I  saw  your  father  very 
seldom  after  his  marriage,  and,  I  think,  only  once,  since 
you  mothers'  death.  I  know  he  loved  her  very  tenderly 
and  devotedly,  and  her  early  death  must  have  been  a  crush- 
ing bereavement,  which  made  it  so  painful  for  him  to  speak 
about  her.  I  do  not  think  that  you  are  correct  in  imagin- 
ing that  there  was  a  mystery  attached  to  her  death.  Most 
likely  it  was  a  morbid  grief  which  made  your  father  loth 
to  satisfy  your  natural  desire  to  talk  of  your  mother.  But, 
my  young  friend,  of  what  avail  is  it  to  dwell  on  and  regret 
the  past  ?  They  are  now  united  and  at  rest  in  Paradise. 
She  had  a  very  beautiful  namb.  At  the  time  of  her  death, 
I  had  a  daughter  given  me,  and  I  named  her  Florence,  and 
you  will  meet  in  your  mother's  namesake  a  very  pretty 
little  miss  of  sixteen.'' 

"Yes,  so  I  understand ;  and  you  also  have  a  little  son 
named  after  my  father." 

"My  youngest  child  has  your  father's  name,  and  I  sin- 
cerely trust  that  he  may  grow  up  as  good  and  able  a  man 
as  his  truly  noble  namesake." 

Speaking  about  his  children  was  an  interesting  topic  to 


TJu  Waif;  or,  The 


the  fond  father,  and  he  went  on,  from  one  to  the  other^ 
giving'  :::e  name,  abearance  and  cLarac-rer  of  eao::  so 
accurately,  that  Louis  Montaine,  who  was  an  interested  list- 
ener, said,  with  a  pleasant  langh. 

"I  will  not  require  an  introduction  to  your  family,  Mr. 
Bentley.  for  you  really  have  made  me  acquainted  *  before 
seeing  them." 

Jrom  his  children  he  went  on  to  talk  about  the  town 
and  church  ;  then  the  College  came  under  discussion,  and 
in  speaking  about  the  latter  institution,  within  whose  time- 
worn  walls  Louis  Montaine  was  about  to  become  a  student, 
he  inquired  somewhat  particularly  of  the  young  gentlemen 
so  soon  to  become  his  classmates. 

ccThere  are  quite  a  large  number  at  the  College,  I  be- 
lieve." was  the  reply,  "but  I  am  personally  acquainted  with 
very  few  ::  :ne:n.  Several  are  from  our  town,  and  among 
the  latter,  a  very  near  neighbor  of  ours,  Arthur  Howards 
He  is  a  fine  boy,  and  close  friend  of  Harry's,  and  I  hope 
the  three  of  you  will  get  on  nicely  together.  The  How- 
ards are  very  pleasant  folk,  descended  from  one  of  the 
best  families  of  the  Old  Dominion,  their  old  ancestry  be- 
ing titled  folks  from  England.  Then,"  he  continued,  with 
a  smile,  "there  are  two  nice  little  girls  in  the  family  ;  Char- 
lotte, an  only  daughter,  and  Lila,  an  adopted  child,  who  i* 
a  great  beauty  and  musical  genius." 

"I  am  very  ready,  and.  no  doubt,  will  become  good 
fiiencs  wi:h  Air.  Howard."  was  the  somewhat  emphasized 
rejoinder,  "but  do  not  care  to  hear  any  thing  con- 
cerning pretty  girls.  You  may  understand  wbv,  Mr. 
Bentley,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  engaged  to  my  cousin,. 
'Rene  Bnrgoyne." 

Mr.  Bentley  started  involuntarily,  turning  pale,  while  he 
said  slowly :  "But.  my  son.  how  can  this  be  possible  ?  By 
what  I  understand,  you  had  not  your  father's  sanction  in 
this  engagement  to  your  cousin." 

••Why  should  you  think  so,  Mr.  Bentley  \  Did  my  father 
speak  to  you  on  the  subject  whilst  you  were  with  him  be- 
fore he  died  V 


Shadows. 


43 


"Yes,  very  seriously.  He  told  me  expressly  that  he 
would  not  have  you  marry  your  cousin.  But  I  did  not  un- 
derstand from  him  that  it  had  gone  so  far,  that  you  were 
engaged.'' 

"We  were  not  engaged  before  his  death.  I  had  hoped 
he  had  died  with  his  objections  overcome.  I  was  with  my 
father  during  his  illness,  day  and  night,  and  it  is  strange  he 
never  once  alluded  to  the  subject,  and  he  spoke  to  you 
about  it,  Mr.  Bentley  ?" 

"Yes,  my  son,  he  seemed  greatly  distressed  that  an  at- 
tachment existed  between  you  and  Miss  Burgoyne.  It 
seemed  one  absorbing  agony  to  him  to  think  you  wished  to 
marry  your  cousin,  and  it  was  his  one  earnest  desire  and 
prayer  that  you  might  observe  his  wishes  after  death, 
which  you  would  not  in  life." 

"  This  is  an  awful  revelation  to  me,  Mr.  Bentley  ;  I  feel 
keenly  distressed  to  have  this  fear  revived.  There  was  a 
bitter  enmity,  or  some  old  time  feud  existing  between  my 
father  and  Mr.  Burgoyne.  But,  Mr.  Bentley,  why  should 
that  interfere  in  Irene's  and  my  happiness  %  What  had  we 
to  do  with  what  our  fathers  had  done  ?  I  am  fully  aware 
that  my  father  objected  to  my  marriage  with  my  cousin 
sometime  back,  but  for  many  months  past  he  has  never 
mentioned  the  subject  to  me,  and  when  he  died  without 
alluding  to  it,  I  felt  that  his  objections  had  been  with- 
drawn ;  that  the  past  had  been  forgiven,  and  I  felt  privil- 
eged to  ask  Irene  to  be  my  wife.  It  has  gone  too  far  now 
for  retraction.  If  I  have  gone  against  my  father's  dying 
wishes  it  is  not  my  fault.  Instead  of  speaking  to  you  on 
this  subject,  why  did  he  not  speak  to  me  %  And  then,  in  that 
hour  of  my  anguish,  when  I  saw  the  life  of  that  dear 
parent  ebbing  out,  no  sacrifice  would  have  been  too  great 
to  exact  from  me  to  make  him  die  happy  and  satisfied. 
But  now  it  is  too  late  ;  the  past  cannot  be  retraces,  and, 
Mr.  Bentley,  if  you  please,  never  mention  the  matter  to  me 
again.  I  am  engaged  to,  and  must  marry  'Rene  Burgoyne. 
There  is  no  help  for  it  now,  so  let  it  rest." 

Louis  Montaine  spoke  positively,  a  stern  determination 


44 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


resting  upon  every  feature,  and  though  Mr.  Bentley  looked 
as  he  felt,  greatly  disturbed,  he  said  nothing  more  then, 
but  doubtless  concluded  that  he  had  undertaken  no  easy 
task  in  promising  to  try  and  disenchant  his  friend's  son. 

There  was  for  a  few  minutes  an  embarrassing  pause  in  the 
conversation,  Mr.  Bentley  seeming  more  inclined  to  think 
than  talk,  while  his  evidently  disturbed,  but  affable  youno- 
ward  appeared  restless,  almost  amounting  to  impatience, 
and,  no  doubt,  desiring  to  change  the  train  of  his  guard- 
ian's thoughts,  asked,  somewhat  abruptly  : 

"  Do  you  not  find  this  travelling  very  tiresome,  Mr. 
Bentley  ? 

"Oh,  no,  I  am  not  very  tired.  I  often  travel,  and  do 
not  find  a  twenty  hours  journey  very  wearying." 

"  I  do,  emphatically.  I  cannot  see  why  we  are  not 
able  to  have  faster  railroad  travelling  ;  something  like  the 
speed  at  the  North.  There  is  some  fun  in  it  there  ;  still  I  pre- 
fer traveling  by  water.  I  can  always  find  a  fund  of  amuse- 
ment in  an  ocean  trip,  and  always  choose  it  when  I  have 
gone  North,  except  last  summer,  when  I  fancied  to  take 
the  trip  by  railroad,  and  I  found  it  ever  so  tiresome,  not- 
withstanding the  monotony  was  broken  by  meeting,  acci- 
dentally, a  very  pleasant  companion  on  the  way.  But  I 
bet  I  did  not  venture  returning  that  way,  but  came  back  bv 
water,  determining  never  to  travel  by  rail  another  time." 

A  strange,  dreamy,  far  away  look  came  into  the  boy's 
eyes.  As  he  spoke,  a  slight  tinge  dyed  his  pale  cheek,  but 
rousing  himself,  he  laughed  and  continued  : 

i(  And  here  I  am  enduring  it  again." 

The  picture  of  a  sweet,  smiling,  sunny-faced  girl  had 
crossed  his  mental  vision,  as  he  recalled  that  trip,  and  it 
seemed  a  pleasant  picture,  too,  for  his  thoughts  dwelt  ]ing- 
eringly  on  it  a  few  minutes,  leaving  his  eyes  thoughtful,  his 
lips  wreathed  in  an  unquestionable  smile,  the  color  to 
deepen  on  his  cheek,  then  disappear,  as  with  a  slight,  regret- 
ful sigh,  he  cast  it  aside,  realizing  that  it  was  but  a  dream, 
which  had  disappeared  he  thought,  but  only  faded  before 
the  blazing,  real  picture  that  now  filled  his  whole  being ; 


Shadows. 


45 


that  it  had  been  but  a  boyish  romance,  lost  in  the  present 
and  more  glorious  reality. 

The  thought,  the  regret  was  only  momentary.  The  next 
instant  he  was  himself  again,  and  turned  with  some  laugh- 
ing remark  to  his  guardian,  about  a  very  anxious  fellow- 
traveler,  who  was  busy  collecting  her  stores  together  pre- 
paratory to  a  rush  from  the  cars. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  train  steamed  into  the  depot, 
and  Harry  Bentley  met  and  embraced  his  father. 

"  Harry,  this  is  Louis  Montaine  ;  I  trust  you  two  may 
become  and  continue  as  good  and  true  friends  as  were  your 
fathers." 

The  two  boys  clasped  hands,  their  eyes  met,  and  a 
smile  came  to  the  face  of  Louis  Montaine,  as  he  replied : 

"  Of  course  we  will  be  friends,  what  is  to  prevent  it  ?  " 

Harry  Bentley's  face  grew  pale.  A  strange,  unaccount- 
able foreboding  seemed  to  mantle  him  in  its  subtle  power, 
and  although  he  returned  the  cordial  pressure  of  the  hand, 
and  brought  a  smile  to  his  face  as  he  said  : 

"  He  hoped  they  would  be  friends — "  he  felt  somehow 
that  they  would  not.  "  And,  yet,"  he  reasoned  with  him- 
self, "  what  was  there  to  prevent  it  ?  " 

But  again  that  night,  in  the  quiet  of  his  chamber,  after 
spending  several  hours  of  pleasant  intercourse  in  the  genial, 
winning  company  of  Louis  Montaine,  and  after  hearing 
parents',  sisters'  and  brother's  verdict  that  they  all  liked 
him,  the  haunting  foreboding  returned  with  redoubled 
force,  and  Harry  Bentley,  walking  to  and  fro,  asked  him- 
self again  and  again,  what  was  it  he  could  not  like  in  Louis 
Montaine  ?  '  Why  should  a  fear,  a  miserable  foreboding 
seize  and  hold  him  so  in  its  power,  if  there  was  not  some 
meaning  in  it  ?  And,  yet,  he  tried  to  reason  : 

"  How  can  it  mean  any  thing?  Why  should  his  coming 
shadow  my  pathway  ?  How  can  he  in  any  way  affect  my 
humble  life,  or  come  across  my  happiness  ?  " 

But  here  he  starts.  A  deathly  pallor  spreads  itself  over 
his  countenance,  and  clasping  his  hands  against  his  heart, 
lie  gasps  : 


46 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"  Oh  !  God,  is  it  this  ?  Will  he  come  between  me  and  all 
that  would  make  my  life  worth  the  living  ?  Surely  he 
could  not,  would  not  be  so  cruel  ?  Hi*  wealth,  his  beauty, 
high  birth  and  gentle,  fascinating  manners  would  make 
him  irresistible  to  any  girl,  and  then  Lottie  is  very  charm- 
ing.   Oh  !  God,  spare  me  this." 

The  pleading  cry  went  up  to  heaven  ;  but  wa°  it  a  needed 
prayer  ? 

In  the  next  room  this  "formidable  rival,"  as  Harry  Bent- 
ley  expressed  it,  sat  with  folded  arms,  enveloped  in  an  ago- 
ny of  grief. 

The  happy,  loving  family  of  which  he  now  formed  a 
part,  came  vividly  before  him,  making  his  orphanhood  and 
loneliness  the  more  glaring,  and  with  a  wild  burst  of  rebel- 
lion he  cried — 

"  Why  should  I  be  deprived  of  mother,  father,  «ister  and 
brother,  while  others  can  be  blessed  with  them  all  ?  Oh  ! 
father,  my  father,  why  did  you  have  to  leave  me  when  I 
was  already  so  lonely  ?  " 

And  what  made  the  pain  more  poignant,  the  loss  so  ter- 
rible, was  the  deep,  biting  remorse  of  his  soul  to  know  that 
he  had  gone  contrary  to  his  dear  father's  wishes  ;  that  hardly 
had  that  beloved  form  been  laid  out  of  sight  when  he  had 
gone  deliberately  against  his  wishes.  What  subtle  power 
had  led  him  on,  quieting  his  doubts  and  making  him  feel 
he  was  right,  in  placing  his  mother's  betrothal  ring  upon 
the  finger  of  a  girl  his  father  had  declared  he  should  not 
wed  ? 

"How  could  I  have  been  so  headstrong,  so  disobedient  ?  n 
he  asked  himself  now,  in  the  deep  contrition  of  his  soul. 

"  But,  now  it  is  too  late,  the  Rubicon  is  passed,  my  word 
of  honor  is  given.  I  will  be  obliged  to  marry  'Rene.  And 
dear  Lord  forgive  me  for  disobeying  my  dear,  lost  father." 


LI  LA. 


"  Well,  Arthur,- what  sort  of  a  creature  is  that  Mr.  Louis 
Montaine,  and  how  do  you  like  him?"  was  the  salutation  of 
Lottie  Howard,  as  her  brother  came  in  from  college  Mon- 
day afternoon.  A  strange,  suppressed  interest  flitted  over 
the  laughing  face  of  the  girl  and  lurked  in  the  merry  eyes 
that  were  raised,  in  questioning  brightness,  to  her  brother's 
face. 

Throwing  aside  his  books,  the  young  man  addressed  an- 
swered with  a  decided  interest  both  in  looks  and  manner  : 

"  1  like  him.  He  is  just  a  delightful  sort  of  chap,  with 
sound,  good  sense.  No  vanity,  nor  putting  on  of  airs,  with 
a  liberal  share  of  fun  and  sociability,  which  suits  me  quite. 
I  like  him,  pet,  and  know  you  will  also,"  and  with  this  fiat, 
Arthur  Howard  looked  what  he  said,  delighted  with  his 
new  made  friend  and  classmate. 

"  You  think  I  will  like  him  also,  eh  ?  "  the  girl  queried, 
a  merry  twinkling  in  her  bright  eyes,  and  a  close  observer 
would  scarcely  fail  to  notice  that  it  was  a  flush  of  some 
secret,  hidden  pleasure  that  mantled  her  plump,  soft  cheek, 
and  kept  the  mouth  wreathed  in  an  unbidden  smile,  which 
she  vainly  strove  to  keep  in  check. 

"  Is  he  handsome  and  refined  ?"  here  inquired  Lila,  who 
sat,  lazily  turning  the  leaves  of  her  music-book  which  lay 
upon  her  lap. 

I  thought  that  would  come  from  you,  Lila,"  and  the 
laugh,  ready  for  an  excuse,  broke  forth  in  a  merry  peal. 

u  And  yet,  I  wanted  to  ask  the  same  question.  Is  he 
handsome,  Arthur  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  cannot  really  answer  you  on  that  subject.  It 
did  not  strike  me  that  he  is,  what  I  would  term  handsome, 
and  I  guess  I  had  better  let  you  young  ladies  decide  that 


48 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


for  yourselves.  He  is  tall  and  very  aristocratic  looking, 
but  a  finer  fellow  you  could  scarcely  come  across." 

"  Now,  I  am  going  to  describe  him,  Lila,  and  see,  Ar- 
thur, what  a  good  guess  I  can  make.  Mr.  Montaine  is  tall, 
elegantly  tall,  with  very  handsome  dark  hair,  dark,  dark 
gray  eyes,  a  very  thoughtful,  high-bred  sort  of  looking  face 
when  in  repose,  but  exceedingly  bright,  and  fascinatingly 
handsome  when  conversing  or  laughing.  A  melodiously 
tuned  voice,  and  a  very  sweet,  ringing  laugh.  How  wiil 
that  description  do,  brother  mine  ?" 

"  Why,  I  am  desperately  smitten  without  seeing  this 
Apollo,"  Lila  cried,  clasping  her  hands  together  in  feigned 
tragical  style,  while  Arthur  with  a  gay  laugh  made  answer, 
looking  curiously  into  the  laughing,  animated  face  of  his 
sister  : 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  very  good  description,  Lottie,  but  I  do 
not  credit  it  as  a  guess  of  yours.  You  have  been  on  the  watch, 
eh,  and  studying  Mr.  Montaine's  looks  ?  I  will  tell  some 
one  of  this." 

"  It  is  no  such  thing,"  contradicted  the  girl,  with  another 
merry  peal  of  laughter.  "  I  am  sure  I  had  no  chance 
whatever  of  seeing  Mr.  Montaine,  for  he  only  came  last 
night,  and  I  have  not  been  out  of  the  house  to-day,  and  as 
Lila  knows,  not  a  soul  has  been  in  here  from  the  Bentleys, 
so  you  will  be  compelled  to  credit  me  as  being1  a  first-rate 
good  guesser. 

Well,  if  it  is  a  guess,  which  I  very  much  doubt,  I  will 
have  to  acknowledge  it  a  pretty  correct  one,  but  I  make  a 
guess  that  you  have  seen  Mr.  Montaine  somehow." 

l<  I  will  tell  you,  Arthur,  how  it  is.  Lottie  has  had  a 
dream  and  saw  Mr.  Montaine ;  perhaps  he  is  to  be  her  fate. 
You  know  the  old  fortune-teller  says  she  is  to  wed  a  wealthy, 
handsome  man,  and  maybe  it  is  not  Walter  Hayne  after 
all." 

"Halloo,  for  Lila!  She  has  it  right  this  time,  eh,  Sis? 
Well,  he  is  a  nice  fellow,  darling,  and  would  make  a  splen- 
did catch." 

"  Fie,  fie,  brother,  you  and  Lila  should  be  ashamed  of 


Lila% 


49 


yourselves  to  talk  such  nonsense,  I  will  not  stay  to  hear 
another  word  ;"  and  with  a  burst  of  gay  song  on  her  lips 
the  merry  girl  ran  from  the  room  and  disappeared  up  the 
stairs. 

"Does  not  Lottie  talk  and  act  strangely  about  this  Mr. 
Montaine  V  remarked  Lila,  inquiringly  ;  but  Arthur  hushed 
her  rather  roughly  : 

"  Pshaw.  Lila.  do  not  begin  at  that  enigma  again  ;  she  has 
seen  him,  of  course.    Where  is  mamma  ?" 

"I  suppose  op-stairs,  I  have  not  seen  her  since  I  came 
in  from  school,  and  I  am  just  waiting  now  to  know  whether 
her  afternoon  nap  is  over,  so  I  can  practice  some  before 
dinner." 

*  I  believe  I  will  try  and  get  a  half  an  hour's'  nap  myself 
before  dinner,  for  I  have  some  tough  studying  on  hand  f 
and  with  this  resolution  the  young  man  disappeared  from 
the  room. 

Left  alone,  Lila  arose  and,  opening  the  piano,  she  took 
her  place  at  it  and  commenced  arranging  the  music  prepar- 
atory to  practicing.  A  frown  swept  over  her  face  as  Arthur 
called  from  above,    "No,  Lila  ;  quiet  is  the  order." 

;*  Pshaw !  always  quietness  is  required  of  me,  I  notice. 
Lottie  can  sing,  laugh,  and  make  just  as  much  noise  as  she 
likes,"  she  muttered  angrily,  pushing  the  music-book  from 
her,  and  resting  her  elbows  on  the  instrument,  she  leaned 
her  head  on  her  hands  and  gazed  gloomily  out  of  a  window 
to  the  right ;  the  angry  frown  taded  gradually  away,  a 
thoughtful,  deeply  thoughtful,  expression  taking  its  place 
giving  to  the  beautiful,  dreamy  face  a  look  of  sadness  which 
seemed  habitual  to  it. 

Lila  Howard,  as  she  was  called,  was  a  beautiful  girl.  A 
blonde  of  the  most  perfect  type,  pure  and  delicate,  with  a 
form  tall,  willowy,  yet  very  graceful.  Large,  dreamy,  sad 
eyes,  blue  as  the  skies  of  a  bright  summers  day.  A  wealth 
of  soft,  creamy  hair  adorned  the  small,  exquisitely  moulded 
head,  "  bauged''  low  over  the  round,  white  forehead,  and 
plaited  in  a  heavy  braid,  worn  in  girlish  fashion,  hanging 
down  her  back ;  while  her  nose  and  mouth  seemed  cast  in 


5° 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


a  perfect  mould,  so  beautiful  and  perfect  were  they.  In 
repose  her  countenance  wore  a  deeply  thoughtful  and  sad 
expression,  but  when  aroused,  or  interested,  her  features 
would  become  animated,  while  a  lovely  flush  of  the  most 
delicate,  roseate  bloom  would  mantle  her  cheeks  and  lips, 
and  a  brilliant  light  emanate  from  the  sad  eyes,  displaying 
transient  sparks  of  the  most  exquisite  beauty.  Her  hands 
are  small  and  white,  soft,  perfect  ;  hands  never  soiled  by 
any  of  earth's  labors,  petted,  indolent  hands.  In  fact,  her 
whole  appearance  was  that  of  an  indolent,  refined  ladyism. 
with  a  faultless,  marble-like  exterior.  And  yet  she  had  a 
heart,  a  living,  glowing,  suffering,  human  heart,  its  fires 
slumbering  low,  just  waiting  for  a  waft  of  love  to  fan  the 
smouldering  embers  into  a  bright,  genial  flame. 

Her  exterior  seemed  the  masterpiece  of  a  human  sculptor, 
but  ah,  the  interior  was  no  passionless,  icy  marble.  Poor 
Lila!  Although  not  yet  eighteen,  and  of  such  matchless  love- 
liness, an  unhappy  and  unloved  life  was  hers.  She  was 
known  as  Lila  Howard,  but  she  knew  she  had  no  claim  to 
the  surname.  A  mystery  hung  over  her,  shadowing  with  its 
dismal  pall  all  the  brightness  of  her  young  life.  Her  birth 
and  parentage  were  shrouded  in  an  impenetrable  gloom. 
She  had  shelter,  protection  and  support,  but  her  proud, 
sensitive  nature  recoiled  when  she  knew  she  had  no  legal 
claim  to  what  she  received,  and  realized  the  humiliating 
fact  that  she  was  a  nameless  waif,  and  an  object  of  charity 
on  the  bounty  of  a  family  on  whom  she  had  been  thrust  in 
helpless  infancy ;  that  she  was,  at  the  best,  an  unwitting 
usurper. 

Some  eighteen  years  previous  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Howard  had 
lost  by  death  their  second  child,  making  way,  it  seemed, 
for  a  little  unfortunate,  thrust  out  on  the  cold  charities  of 
the  world.  The  night  after  the  burial  of  his  child  Dr. 
Howard,  returning  home  from  a  rather  late  professional 
visit,  stumbled  over  a  basket  within  his  gate,  and  started 
back  in  dismay  as  the  cry  of  an  infant  fell  upon  his  ear. 
Instantly  he  divined  the  skillful  plan.  Doubtless  some 
one,  hearing  of  their  loss,  had  seized  the  opportunity  of 


Lila. 


51 


thrusting  their  little  babe  upon  him  and  his  wife's  love  and 
charity.  Yexation  was  his  first  emotion,  but  recovering 
himself,  he  lifted  up  the  rather  burdensome  basket  and  car- 
ried it  in  to  his  wife,  determining  to  let  her  decide  how 
they  should  act  in  the  matter.  On  examination  of  the 
basket  it  was  found  to  contain  a  female  infant  about  three 
months  old,  wrapped  up  in  a  fine,  embroidered  shawl  of 
white  merino,  while  a  dainty  cap  of  rich  lace  was  upon  its 
head.  Evidently  it  was  not  poverty  that  caused  its  natural 
protectors  to  cast  it  from  them,  for  besides  the  costly  rai- 
ment it  wore  there  were  a  number  of  other  garments  in 
the  basket,  all  of  the  finest  texture  and  elaborately  trimmed 
in  costly  lace  and  rich  embroideries.  Each  garment  was 
marked  neatly  with  the  initials  "  L.  R.  M.,"  and  on  one  was 
pinned  a  note  written  in  a  rude,  unskilled  chirography, 
which  ran  thus  : 

"  Please  kind  people  take  care  of  this  child,  its  mother  is 
dead,  its  father  is  a  very  rich,  distinguished  man,  and  some 
day  may  reclaim,  and  pay  you  for  your  trouble  and  kind- 
ness.   The  child's  name  is  Lila." 

That  was  all ;  nothing  further  could  be  gleaned  from  the 
mysterious  basket  nor  helpless  little  foundling.  After  due 
consideration,  and  much  persuasion  on  the  part  of  his  young 
wife,  Dr.  Howard  consented  to  adopt,  or  at  least  take  care 
of  the  infant  indefinitely.  And  so  the  little  Lila,  thrust 
out  by  her  natural  protectors,  became  the  inmate  of  a  home 
and  received  a  name  to  which  she  had  no  legal  claim.  Ar- 
thur, then  a  child  of  two  years  of  age,  missing  his  baby 
sister,  took  kindly  to  the  little  stranger,  and  for  a  time  Lila 
was  the  petted  darling  of  the  household.  But,  as  the  years 
came  and  went  changes  also  came,  and  the  pretty,  petted 
little  girl  began  at  an  early  age  to  realize  that  life  was  not 
all  sunshine. 

When  Lila  was  two  years  of  age  Mrs.  Howard  had  another 
little  daughter  given  to  her ;  a  sweet,  smiling-faced,  tiny 
creature  who  at  once  seemed  to  capture  the  hearts  of  all 
and  was  soon  shrined  the  household  idol.  Spoiled,  fretful 
Lila  became  the  bugbear,  and  Lotta  the  pet,  the  darling. 


52 


The  Waif;  or,  Ihe  Web  of  Life. 


The  old  family  nurse,  with  a  negro's  inherent  prejudice,, 
had  ever  looked  upon  the  adopted  Lila  as  a  usurper,  and 
would  mutter  to  the  frightened,  sensitive  child,  too  often 
accompanied  with  a  slap,  jerk  or  pinch  :  u  You  ain't  be- 
longs to  de  Grahams,  and  I  aint  see  why  I  is  got  to  wony 
myself  wid  de  like  of  you."  And  now  it  was  worse,  after 
the  little  Charlotte  ("a  real  Graham,''  as  she  expressed  it) 
was  given  to  her  care ;  with  her  increasing  care  and  devo- 
tion to  her  new  charge  her  patience  decreased  towards  poor 
little  Lila. 

Mrs.  Howard  was  young  and  inexperienced,  and  left  the 
old  nurse  with  full  control  of  the  children,  and  she  had  no 
idea  that  her  foster-child  was  in  any  way  neglected  or  ill- 
treated.  Once  she  had  told  her  to  be  kind  to  the  peevish, 
delicate  little  Lila,  and  to  make  no  distinction  between  her 
and  the  other  children,  and  therewith  was  content,  having 
full  confidence  in  nurse  Chloe's  goodness  and  efficiency. 

The  tired  Doctor  would  come  home,  and  although  mean- 
ing no  unkindness,  he  would  ignore  the  shy,  and  often  cry- 
ing Lila,  while  with  open  arms  and  beaming  face  he  wouid 
take  to  his  heart  his  cooing,  pleasant-faced  little  daughter. 
And  was  he  to  be  blamed  for  the  preference  ?  The  natural 
parent's  love  was  there,  and  then  the  object  of  it  was  so  in- 
expressibly sweet  and  endearing,  for  the  baby  Charlotte  was 
one  of  those  smiling,  cherubic  little  mortals  that  sometimes 
brighten  a  home  into  a  paradise. 

Arthur,  the  four  year  old  son,  intuitively  saw  how  mat- 
ters stood  and  felt  privileged  to  tease  and  vent  his  ill  humor 
on  the  unoffending  child  with  impunity,  and  he  had  been 
carefully  taught  by  Chloe  that  Lila  was  not  his  sister,  but  a 
charity  child  who  was  stealing  his  rights  from  him.  And 
thus  the  worse  than  orphaned  child,  although  sheltered, 
well  fed  and  clothed,  distinctly  lacked  that  which  renders  a 
child  free  and  happy,  love,  sympathy  and  parental  care 
and  consideration.  And  yet  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Howard 
thought  they  were  doing  their  duty  by  the  helpless  child 
thrown  on  their  care,  but  could  not  realize  the  craving  wants 
of  that  frail,  sensitive  little  creature.    And  with  such  an 


Lila. 


53 


atmosphere  surrounding  her,  is  it  any  wonder  that  Lila's 
childhood  was  not  a  happy,  careless  one  ? 

In  the  course  of  years  other  children  came  to  this  house- 
hold, and  the  mother's  frail  constitution  seemed  broken, 
for  she  was  often  sick  and  very  nervous,  and  consequently 
had  to  leave  the  care  of  her  family  still  more  to  the  manage- 
ment of  servants,  and  Lila's  lot,  never  a  desirable  one,  now 
became  worse.  Death,  with  his  insatiable  greed,  cast  his 
cruel  scythe  into  this  home,  taking  into  his  cold  embrace 
within  the  space  of  one  week  the  father  and  three  young- 
est children,  who  died  from  scarlet  fever,  which  had  visited 
the  town  that  fall  in  the  form  of  an  epidemic.  The  blow 
crushed  the  wife  and  mother  so  completely  that  her  eldest 
sister,  a  maiden  lady  of  about  forty,  left  her  home  in  Vir- 
ginia and  came  to  take  the  management  of  her  bereaved 
sister's  household.  She  was  a  thrifty,  energetic  lady,  and, 
quite  the  contrary  to  Mrs.  Howard,  a  splendid  housekeeper. 
Arthur  and  Charlotte,  so  accustomed  to  the  care  of  ser  - 
vants,  were  delighted  with  Aunt  Lucy,  and  more  delig  hted 
with  the  pleasant  change  her  presence  had  wrought  in  their 
home ;  but  Lila  seemed  the  one,  and  only  one,  unfriendly 
spirit.  Miss  Graham  was  a  practical  and  busy  lady,  kind 
and  genial  but  utterly  devoid  of  sentiment,  and  could  not 
sympathize  with  the  dreamy,  indolent  disposition  of  the 
girl,  and  Lila,  hitherto  accustomed  to  have  her  own  way, 
put  herself  in  open  antagonism,  and  soon  there  was  a  war 
between  them.  Naturally  violent  in  her  dislikes,  Lila  con- 
ceived a  bitter  hatred  toward  the  lady  and  ever  viewed  her 
with  suspicion  and  malice.  Poor,  mistaken,  mismanaged 
girl.  She  knew  she  was  disliked,  and  with  this  knowledge 
grew  up  a  sad,  thoughtful,  defiant  and  unhappy  disposi- 
tion. The  same  that  was  provided  for  Charlotte  was  given 
to  her ;  she  enjoyed  the  same  advantages  in  every  respect 
but  seemed  to  care  very  little  for  them  and  profited  by 
them  as  little,  and  her  idleness  and  seeming  ingratitude 
was  what  called  for  the  bitter  disapproval  of  Miss  Graham. 
Arthur  treated  his  adopted  sister  with  some  show  of  polite- 
ness and  affection,  but  being  so  different  from  his  open, 

4 


54 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


merry  disposition,  there  was  very  little  sympathy  and  con- 
geniality between  them. 

Her  best,  and  perhaps  only  friend,  was  Charlotte,  sweet 
Charlotte  Howard,  who  seemed  to  love  every  one  and 
whom  every  one  seemed  to  love.  Can  I  describe  this 
bright,  sunny  child  ?  So  loving  and  beloved.  I  feel  un- 
equal to  the  task,  and  yet  she  is  no  Madonna,  no  model  of 
loveliness.  Her  looks  are  only  those  of  an  ordinary  girl,  very 
piquant  and  attractive  it  is  true,' but  not  beautiful.  She  is 
not  yet  sixteen,  and  quite  small  for  her  few  years  ;  lightly 
built,  but  gracefully  proportioned  and  well  developed.  Her 
complexion  is  soft  and  clear,  with  a  rich,  roseate  hue 
mantling  her  well  rounded  cheek,  deepening  to  a  richer, 
healthful  glow  in  the  full  lips,  in  deep  contrast  to  the  very 
white,  pearly  teeth,  almost  habitually  displayed,  so  fre- 
quently are  they  parted  in  smiles  and  merry  peals  of  gen- 
uine heart's  laughter.  Her  hair  is  of  a  light  auburn,  bor- 
dering on  to  the  objectionable  red,  which  she  wears  brushed 
back  from  the  round,  white  forehead,  and  straying  at  will 
in  loose,  childish  curls  over  her  shoulders.  Her  hazel  eyes, 
although  small,  sparkle  like  stars  when  not  shaded  by  the 
long,  silky  lashes  which,  slightly  curled  at  the  ends,  give  to 
her  bright,  merry  face,  a  peculiar  yet  piquant  look.  If  not 
beautiful  in  the  full  acceptation  of  the  term,  there  is  some- 
thing very  charming  and  interesting  characterizing  her  gen- 
eral appearance.  But  the  chief  attraction  lay  in  the  habit- 
ual sunny  smile,  the  laughing  love-lit  eyes,  the  ready, 
spontaneous  laughter,  rippling  up  joyous  and  free,  from  a 
free,  joyous  heart.  The  buoyant,  busy  step,  running 
hither  and  thither,  ever  dispensing  aid  and  imparting  pleas- 
ure to  others.  And  yet,  with  all  this,  I  have  not  done  jus- 
tice to  this  bright  child  of  creation,  this  sweet,  glorious 
girl.  Certainly  she  is  one  of  those  rare  characters,  which 
are  best  described  in  the  poet's  sweet  words, 

"An  eye  too  bright,  to  shine  below  the  skies, 
A  voice  too  sweet,  below  the  angels  mirth ; 
A  face  too  bright,  for  sorrows  daily  jars, 
A  soul  too  white,  to  catch  the  dust  of  earth." 


Lila. 


55 


During  this  digression  time  has  flown  by  on  its  swift 
wings,  and  the  dreaming  Lila  starts  up  in  alarm,  without 
one  note  of  practice  on  the  piano,  as  the  dinner-bell  falls 
upon  her  ear.  Arranging  her  hair  before  the  parlor  mir- 
ror she  mechanically  obeyed  its  summons,  entering  the 
dining-room  dull  and  listless. 

In  the  course  of  dinner  Charlotte  casually  inquired  : 
"  Did  you  get  through  practicing,  Lila  %  I  have  rehearsed 
my  French  exercise,  and  will  practice  immediately  after 
dinner  as  I  wish  to  finish  my  studies  before  night,  for  Ar- 
thur tells  me  we  are  to  have  company  this  evening.'' 

"No,  Lottie;  Arthur  told  me  to  keep  quiet,  and,  there- 
fore, understanding  that  mamma  was  still  asleep,  I  did  not 
practice  one  note." 

"  Why,  Arthur,  mamma  has  not  been  asleep  since  you 
came  in  !''  then  laughingly  she  continued.  "  He  wanted 
quietness  for  himself,  Lila ;  I  saw  him  stretched  out  on 
mamma's  lounge." 

u  Well,  I  know  I  did,"  the  young  man  acknowledged 
with  a  laugh.  "But  that  was  nearly  an  hour  ago.  Why  I 
have  had  a  good  nap,  and  arranged  all  my  studies  since  I 
left  Lila,  so  it  is  not  my  fault  she  has  not  practiced." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Lila  greatly  prefers  to  idle  and  dream  away 
her  time,  than  to  attend  her  studies,  or  anything  else,"  in- 
terposed Miss  Graham  testily. 

A  hot  flush  rushed  to  the  brow  of  the  sensitive  girl,  her 
.lips  quivered,  and  bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears,  she  arose 
from  the  table  and,  sobbing,  left  the  room. 

Arthur  laughed,  Mrs.  Howard  looked  annoyed,  and  Char- 
lotte grieved  ;  but  Miss  Graham,  unabashed,  continued  : 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  babyish  and  lazy  girl  in  all  my  life. 
I  cannot  understand  what  she  intends  to  do  for  herself. 
Nearly  eighteen,  and  so  backward  in  her  studies.  Why,  she 
will  never  graduate  and  get  out  into  society  at  this  rate, 
and  it  is  high  time  she  should  be  thinking  of  getting  mar- 
ried instead  of  dreaming  her  life  away  in  sheer  idleness, 
and  shunning  every  gentleman  that  comes  in  her  way  as 
though  they  were  beneath  her  notice,  whereas,  with  very 


56 


The  af;   Wozr,  The  Web  of  Life. 


litttle  effort,  she  could  secure  for  herself  a  husband  and  a 
home  to  which  she  has  a  right.  I  cannot  have  patience 
with  the  girl ;  her  ingratitude  an  d  idleness  are  insuffera- 
ble." And  the  lady  cut  the  meat  before  her,  nervously  r 
wishing  it  was  the  offending  Lila,  judging  from  her  looks. 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  see  why  she  does  not  try  and  get  married, 
for  it  seems  we  do  not  suit  her  ideas.  Old  Professor  Yer- 
neer  is  dead  in  love  with  her  too.  One  smile  would  bring 
him  to  terms.  He  is  wealthy,  if  a  little  gray,  but  she  is  in- 
dignant at  such  a  suggestion.  The  Lady  Lila  has  higher 
ideas  than  so  marry  a  professor  of  music." 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  my  brother,"  said  Charlotte  in  a. 
grieved  tone.  "Please  do  not  talk  this  way,  Arthur,  for  I 
know  you  would  not  have  Lila  to  sacrifice  herself  on  such 
an  old  veteran.  Why,  he  is  past  sixty,  and  has  a  grandson 
the  age  of  Lila.  How  would  you  like  to  see  me  marry  old 
Mr.  Yerneer?"  And  a  merry,  arch  look  came  over  the 
sweet  young  face,  while  a  gay  burst  of  laughter  echoed 
through  the  room. 

"  You,  O  !  that  is  a  bird  of  another  color.  I  have  some 
one  else  in  reserve  for  you,  darling."  And  the  brother 
winked  his  merry  eyes  significantly. 

Blushing  prettily,  the  sister  laughingly  rejoined:  "  Save 
yourself  the  trouble  brother  mine.  I  prefer  to  manage  my 
own  love  affairs,  but  I  think  I  shall  follow  Aunt  Lucy's  ex- 
ample and  never  marry  ;  for  I  could  not  leave  my  dear, 
dear  home  and  sweet  ones." 

u  Wise  conclusion,  eh,  Aunt  Lu  ?  But  it  is  not  very  prob- 
able that  you  can  hold  to  it,  little  lady.  Too  many  boys 
are  watching  you  with  covetous  eyes,  and  I  am  pretty  sure 
one  will  win  the  prize  eventually  ;  Walter  Hayne,  for  in- 
stance, if  this  new  comer  does  not  interfere." 

u  I  declare,  Arthur,  you  are  incorrigible.  I  will  not  stay 
and  listen  to  another  word  of  such  nonsense."  And  rising 
with  an  assumed  dignity,  the  warm  blood  deepened  in  her 
cheeks  to  a  carnation  dye,  she  left  the  room  with  a  cup  of 
hot  tea  and  plate  of  dessert,  for  the  absent  Lela,  leaving 
her  brother  to  be  rebuked  by  the  practical  Miss  Graham 
for  putting  such  notions  into  his  sister's  head. 


Lila. 


57 


"  A  mere  child,"  concluded  tie  lady,  with  decided  disap- 
proval in  her  tone. 

"  A  mere  child,  eh  %  That  is  all  you  understand  about 
the  matter,  Aunt  Lucy.  Iam  not  the  one  that  put  such  no- 
tions in  her  head,  I  assure  you.  She  has  been  interested  on 
that  subject  long  ago.  But  I  must  away  to  my  lessons. 
Have  a  nice  tea  fixed  up  Auntie  darling,  for  it  is  very  prob- 
able Mr.  Montaine  will  call  this  evening,  with  Harry." 

Up-stairs  in  her  pretty  little  chamber  Lila  sat,  crying  and 
brooding  over  her  lot,  when  Charlotte  entered  and  lovingly 
begged  her  to  drink  the  tea  and  eat  of  the  nice  cake  and 
pie  she  had  brought, 

"  Come,  Lila,''  she  pleaded.  "Eat  it  dear,  and  let  us  go 
down  and  practice  together." 

But  in  vain  she  urged.  Lila  was  stubborn,  and  refused 
to  be  comforted,  preferring  to  nurse  her  little  trials  into 
mountains  of  misery.  And  unable  to  induce  her  sister  to 
accompany  her,  Charlotte  was  compelled  to  descend  alone, 
where  she  was  soon  deeply  engrossed  in  the  next  day's  stud- 
ies until  deterred  by  the'  darkening  gloom  of  the  winter's 
short  twilight. 

After  the  lamps  were  lit,  Arthur  entered  the  bright, 
warm  parlor,  and  leaning  on  the  piano  proposed  some  mu- 
sic before  tea.  Readily  his  sister  acquiesced,  and  taking 
her  seat  before  the  instrument,  she  ran  over  her  several  op- 
eratic solos  ;  then  together  they  sang  some  of  their  favorite 
songs,  and  the  house  rang  with  the  sweet,  rippling  soprano 
of  Charlotte  and  the  rich,  deep  tenor  of  her  brother. 

Up-stairs  in  the  dark,  still  chamber  Lila  remained  stub- 
bornly. The  joy  and  merriment  below  dissipating  none  of 
the  gloom  in  her  heart,  but  rather  tending  to  aggravate  and 
increase  its  venom. 

The  sharp  ring  of  the  tea  bell,  and  Charlotte's  pleading 
call  of,  "Come  Lila,  tea  is  ready  ;  please  join  us,  dear,"  was 
unheeded  by  her,  as  with  a  muttered  "  I  do  not  want  any- 
thing to  eat,  and  will  starve  before  going  to  the  table  with 
her  again,"  she  shut  the  door,  turning  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"Oh  !  how  I  hate  her,''  she  cried  passionately,  as  with 


53 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


clenched  hands,  and  eyes  flashing  defiantly,  she  walked  the- 
floor  like  an  enraged  panther.  "  She  will  gain  nothing  by 
calling  me  lazy,  dreaming  and  senseless  ;  I  will  show  her 
that  I  will  not  study,  and  just  see  when  I  shall  open  a  book 
again,  or  strike  one  note  of  music.  I  just  will  not  study  to 
please  her,  there."  And  with  this  angry  declaration  she 
banked  up  her  books,  and  hastily  disrobing  herself,  went  to 
bed,  cold,  hungry  and  angry,  and  when  a  few  minutes  later 
Charlotte  knocked  at  her  door,  begging  that  she  would  take 
the  supper  which  she  had  brought  up,  she  would  not  deign 
even  a  reply,  and  baffled,  Charlotte  was  compelled  to  return 
with  it  to  the  table,  explaining  that  Lila  was  asleep. 

"  Another  week  of  sulks,  Aunt  Lucy ;"  suggested  Arthur, 
with  a  doleful  shake  of  his  head,  and  the  lady  assented  to 
his  predictions  with  a  look  that  spoke  volumes. 

.  "  Well,  Lottie,  as  Mr.  Montaine  has  failed  to  make  his 
appearance  as  yet,  suppose  we  have  a  game  of  chess,  eh  ?" 
But  ere  the  sister  had  time  to  reply,  there  was  a  rap  at  the 
door  and  Harry  Bentley  entered,  followed  by  Louis  Mon- 
taine and  William  Courtney,  a  cousin  of  the  Howards,  but 
withal  a  great  admirer  of  Miss  Lottie,  whom,  Harry  ex- 
plained, they  met  at  the  gate. 

"Mr.  Louis  Montaine,  my  mother,  Aunt  Lucy,  and  my 
sister  Lottie,"  explained  Arthur. 

The  young  man  bowed  low,  as  he  acknowledged  the  intro- 
duction with  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand  to  the  two  elder 
ladies,  then  turning  to  the  latter,  a  strange,  startled  look 
came  over  his  face,  but  recovering  himself  instantly  he  ex- 
tended his  hand,  saying  with  a  peculiar  smile  hovering  around 
his  mouth,  and  lurking  in  the  deep  eyes  that  rested  some- 
what inquiringly  upon  the  flushed,  but  composed  face  of 
the  young  lady,  "  I  am  quite  pleased  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, Miss  Lottie." 

"  I  am  also  quite  pleased  to  make  yours,  Mr.  Montaine, 
and  cordially  welcome  you  to  our  mountain  city  and  my 
home."  And  with  a  merry,  sunny  smile,  but  heightened 
color,  the  girl  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

A  glad  smile  of  recognition  came  into  his  handsome  eyes ; 


Lila. 


59 


his  grasp  grew  firmer  for  one  moment  on  the  fluttering 
hand  still  in  his,  but  without  further  explanation  he  con- 
ducted her  politely  to  a  seat,  and  turned  with  some  pleasant 
remark  to  Miss  Graham,  who  was  near  by. 

A  merry,  animated,  general  conversation  ensued;  but  in 
the  course  of  the  evening  Louis  Montaine  managed  adroitly 
to  get  Charlotte  out  of  earshot,  if  not  eyesight,  of  the  others, 
and  with  the  same  peculiar  smile  coming  to  his  face,  he  said 
in  a  low  tone,  "  If  I  am  not  very  much  mistaken,  we  have 
met  before,  Miss  Lottie  ?" 

"  Of  course  we  have  met  before,  are  you  in  any  way 
doubtful  about  the  fact  ?"  was  her  ready  response,  with  a 
saucy  smile  on  her  face. 

"  How  was  it,  you  told  me  your  name  was  Lottie  Graham, 
and  I  find  you  now  as  Lottie  Howard  V 

"  Well,  I  told  you  the  truth,  my  name  is  Charlotte  Gra- 
ham Howard,  and  somehow,  I  felt  like  remaining  incog., 
never  dreaming  that  you  would  so  soon  catch  me  in  a  story; 
for  who  thought  then  that  you  would  come  up  here  to  live." 

"Ah,  who  thought  it  f"  was  the  refrain,  a  sudden  sadness 
flitting  across  the  handsome,  bright  face  of  the  youth.  But 
the  brightness  came  back  as  suddenly,  as  he  went  on  :  "  So 
you  see,  you  had  the  advantage  over  me,  I  could  not  feel 
certain  that  1  was  right  in  classing  you  as  Lottie  Graham, 
when  I  was  introduced  to  you  with  another  surname,  and 
you  have  changed  somewhat,  your  voice  and  laugh  would 
have  betrayed  you  though,  even  if  I  had  not  seen  you,  for 
what  familiar  music  it  is  to  my  ears.  I  had  no  idea  that  I 
would  meet  you  here,  or  else  I  would  have  been  much 
more  willing  to  have  come.  Does  your  brother  know  that 
we  have  met  before  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  I  never  told  a  soul,  but  I  will  tell  them  now, 
since  they  know  you.  I  was  afraid  to  let  mamma  hear  that 
I  had  been  on  such  friendly  terms  with  a  stranger,  for  she 
would  never  have  consented  to  let  me  go  to  grandpapa's 
again  with  Chloe,  and  I  like  to  spend  my  summer  vacation 
in  the  dear  Old  Dominion.  But  I  will  confess  now,  and 
beg  forgiveness  for  the  deception,  if  you  term  it  as  such." 


6o 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"  She  may  forgive  the  deception,  but  perhaps  not  the  flir- 
tation, eh  ?" 

•  I  protest  that,  sir,  I  never  flirt,  neither  did  I  at  that  time. 
I  felt  lonely  and  wanted  some  one  to  talk  with,  and  feeling 
6ure  you  were  a  gentleman,  I  trusted  you  accordingly." 

"  And  you  found  me  a  gentleman  ?" 

"  A  very  gentleman." 

"  I  thank  you,  and  hope  you  may  never  have  cause  to 
change  in  your  good  opinion  of  me." 

Just  here  a  slight  interruption  occurred,  the  abrupt  de- 
parture of  William  Courtney,  who  with  a  frowning  brow, 
and  short  "good-night,"  took  his  leave. 

Mrs.  Howard  and  Miss  Graham  had  excused  themselves, 
and  seeing  Arthur  and  Harry  quite  interested  in  some  dis- 
cussion, Louis  Montaine  again  turned  to  Charlotte,  and  with 
a  significant  smile,  remarked : 

"  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Courtney  is  angry  at  my  seeming  mo- 
nopoly of  Miss  Howard.  I  presume  his  visit  was  intended 
exclusively  to  you,  and  I  am  very  sorry  I  disturbed  him." 

"Pshaw!  do  not  mind  Willie,  Mr.  Montaine,  I  will  take 
him  to  task  for  his  rudeness  when  I  see  him  again." 

Then  with  a  significant  emphasis  she  continued  : 

"  You  know  Willie  is  my  first  cousin,  nothing  more  to 
me." 

"  But  you  are  something  more  to  him,  eh,  Miss  Charlotte?" 

"A  cousin  can  never  be  more  to  me  than  a  cousin,  Mr. 
Montaine.  I  deem  it  a  disgrace,  if  not  an  actual  sin,  for 
cousins  to  violate  their  already  close  relationship.  Why, 
Willie's  mother  and  my  father  were  own  brother  and  sister, 
and  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  there  is  a  very  great  differ- 
ence between  him  and  my  brother  Arthur." 

Louis  Montaine  winced,  and  coloring  involuntarily,  looked 
earnestly  into  the  glowing  face  of  the  girl,  with  the  mental 
query  :  "  Could  she  know  aught  of  his  love  for  his  cousin, 
and  their  engagement  ?"  He  thought  that  impossible,  after 
a  brief  consideration.  They  were  undoubtedly  her  inde- 
pendent ideas,  with  no  covert  significance  attached,  and 
after  a  slight  pause  he  said  : 


Lila. 


61 


"  I  cannot  agree  with  you  on  this  point,  Miss  Charlotte,  I 
do  not  think  it  wrong,  sinful  nor  disgraceful,  for  cousins  to 
marry.  We  cannot  control  our  affections,  and  if  you  should 
happen  to  fall  in  love  with  a  cousin,  must  you  crush  that 
love  just  because  the  loved  object  is  your  cousin  \  I  think 
that  would  be  sinful,  and  moreover  great  folly.  And  how 
can  you  call  it  a  disgrace?  Why,  it  is  the  common,  every- 
day occurrence,  and  chiefly  among  the  first  families  of  our 
land." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,"  the  girl  said  with  a  light  laugh,  "  but 
still,  I  hold  to  my  opinion,  and  deem  it  something  wrong 
and  unnatural,  and  would  no  more  think  of  marrying  a 
cousin,  than  an  uncle  or  a  nephew." 

"  If  you  happened  to  love  a  cousin  very  dearly,  you  would 
think  and  talk  differently  Miss  Lottie." 

"No,  I  would  not.  1  do  not  think  we  can  love  a  cousin 
with  the  same  love  that  we  should  give  to  a  husband  or 
wife;  but  I  will  say  no  more  on  this  subject,  you  look  sus- 
piciously interested  Mr.  Montaine." 

And  she  laughed  ;  but  ah,  was  the  same  merry  ring  in  it 
as  usual  ?  Was  it  not  harsh  and  discordant  ?  It  seemed  so 
to  the  girl,  who,  for  the  first  time  in  her  young  life,  felt  a 
strange,  bitter  sting  at  her  heart. 

Louis  Montaine  looked  into  the  sweet  young  face,  and  his 
heart  stirred  strangely  within  him.  The  memory  of  their 
meeting  came  vividly  before  him ;  her  picture  had  clung  to 
him  the  past  year,  like  some  pleasant  dream,  and  he  was 
more  pleased  to  meet  her  again  than  he  cared  to  acknowl- 
edge. Should  he  tell  her  of  his  true  position,  or  let  his  en- 
gagement remain  untold?  He  knew  too  well  mortgaged 
young  men  did  not  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  girls,  and 
he  did  not  like  that  this  one  should  treat  him  indifferently. 
He  would  like  to  see  her  smile  and  flush  at  his  coming,  to 
feel  her  preference  for  himself,  but  would  this  be  right,  or 
honorable?  He  knew  it  would  not ;  he  had  promised  to  be 
true  to  his  absent  betrothed.  The  temptation  to  flirt  with 
this  little  wild,  captivating  mountain  flower  was  great,  but 
after  a  brief  struggle  against  old  Satan,  the  temptation  was 


62 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


overcome,  the  wrong  inclination  made  subservient  to  his 
honor,  and  turning  away  scornfully  from  it,  Louis  Mon- 
taine  said,  after  a  little  while: 

"Of  course,  Miss  Lottie,  we  generally  have  an  opinion  of 
our  own,  and  have  a  right  to  hold  to  it,  but,  I  think  your 
coloring  of  the  matter  is  rather  severe.  I  have  a  cousin 
who  is  very  dear  to  me,  so  much  so,  that  she  will  one  day 
be  my  wife,  and  I  trust  by  that  time  your  views  on  the  sub- 
ject will  be  changed,  so  that  you  can  conscientiously  wish 
me  joy  in  my  union  with  a  cousin." 

"  So  you  are  engaged  to  a  cousin  ?  I  am  sorry,  for  I  can- 
not see  right  in  it,"  was  the  simple  reply. 

Taking  out  his  watch  he  touched  a  spring  and  said : 

"Let  me  show  you  the  portrait  of  this  cousin,  and  when 
you  see  how  very  beautiful  she  is,  perhaps  you  may  justify 
me  somewhat." 

She  glanced  at  the  face  exhibited  to  her  view,  and  replied 
rather  coldly,  "  Yes,  it  is  a  very  beautiful  face  ;  but  passion- 
less and  haughty,  Mr.  Montaine."  Then,  with  a  start  she 
exclaimed,    Why,  it  is  the  image  of  Lila." 

"  And  may  I  ask  who  is  Lila?" 

"  My  adopted  sister,  the  resemblance  is  most  striking,  one 
could  almost  declare  that  it  is  the  portrait  of  Lila  herself." 

"  That  is  very  strange,"  the  young  man  laughed,  looking 
into  the  mystified  face  of  the  girl.  "  And  where  is  this 
counterpart  of  my  beautiful  cousin,  does  she  live  with  you? 
for  I  would  like  to  see  her  very  much." 

"  O !  yes,  but  she  is  not  well  this  evening  and  has  re- 
tired, but  do  call  in  to-morrow  Mr.  Montaine,  and  see  if  I 
am  not  correct,"  and  springing  up,  she  was  the  next  instant 
claiming  a  corroboration  of  her  statement  from  her  brother 
and  Harry  Bentley. 

"  Why  to  be  sure,"  assented  the  young  men  in  concert, 
"  It  is  certainly  very  much  like  Lila ;"  and  Harry  went  on 
looking  attentively  at  the  face. 

"  There  is  a  most  striking  resemblance  but  the  beauty  of 
this  picture  is  more  brilliant,  the  expression  haughty,  while 
that  of  Lila's  is  sad  and  dreamy ;  yet  there  is  certainly  a 
most  wonderful  likeness.    Whose  miniature  is  it,  Louis  ?" 


Li  la. 


63 


"  My  cousin,  Irene  Burgoyne.'' 

"  You  must  think  a  good  deal  of  her,  Mr.  Montaine," 
Arthur  said,  with  a  significant  smile,  "  to  wear  her  next 
your  heart." 

"  Of  course  I  do,  she  is  very  dear  to  me,  and  as  I  do  not 
care  particularly  to  keep  it  a  secret  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
now  that  she  is  my  betrothed  wife." 

"  Ah  !  well  she  is  certainly  a  great  beauty,"  was  the  re- 
joinder, a  slight  shade  flitting  over  the  bright,  handsome 
face  of  the  speaker  as  the  light,  flickering  flame  of  some 
secret  hope,  doubtless,  was  extinguished  by  this  sudden 
blast. 

And  as,  with  a  click,  the  proud,  handsome  face  of  Irene 
Burgoyne  was  hid  from  view,  the  subject  was  dropped. 

As  Louis  Montaine  and  Harry  Bentley  separated  that 
night  the  latter  said  confidentially  : 

"  Louis,  it  is  such  an  immense  relief  for  me  to  hear  of 
your  engagement  that  I  feel  constrained  to  thank  you  for 
the  disclosure  of  it  this  evening.  Ever  since  your  arrival 
up  here  a  weight  has  rested  on  my  heart  which  I  could  not 
shake  off,  for  so  many  seem  to  fall  in  love  with  Charlotte 
Howard  that  I  was  fearful  you  might  have  done  the  same, 
and  I  considered  you  a  rival  to  be  feared,  but  it  is  all  right 
now." 

"  I  fancied  I  had  not  found  favor  in  your  estimation  and 
see  now  I  was  correct,  but,  understanding  your  reason,  must 
exonerate  you  fully.  You  are  safe,  so  far  as  it  regards  me 
coming  in  your  way,  and  I  hope  we  may  hereafter  be  good 
friends.  I  wish  you  all  the  success  in  the  world,  my  dear 
Harry,  she  is  a  sweet,  charming  little  girl,  but  if  I  can 
judge  correctly  she  will  not  be  easily  won  ;  so  go  about  it 
bravely  and  woo  hard.    Good  night." 

"  Good  night,  and  thanks  for  your  good  wishes  and 
cheering  advice ;"  and  with  a  light  laugh  and  bright  face 
Harry  Bentley  entered  his  apartment  far  happier  than  in  the 
last  few  days.  But  as  is  often  the  case  in  life,  that  the  joy 
of  one  is  sorrow  to  another,  so  it  was  now,  for  the  news 
that  had  brought  this  relief  and  happiness  to  Harr}  Bentley 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


had  fallen  with  keen,  blighting  pain  on  bright,  happy  and 
careless  Lottie  Howard.  It  is  the  decree  of  Jehovah  that 
no  one  can  remain  careless  and  happy  upon  this  troubled, 
surging  sea  of  life. 

A  few  days'  companionship  on  a  monotonous  journey  to 
her  grandfather's,  the  summer  before,  had  been  ever  since 
like  a  golden  dream  to  this  sweet,  guileless  child,  yea,  de- 
lightfully but  dangerously  sweet  to  her  warm,  loving, 
waxen  heart.  No  one  had  ever  heard  of  this  meeting,  and 
although  the  image  of  this  handsome  young  stranger  had 
become  the  secret,  stolen  sigh  of  her  soul,  no  one  ever 
guessed  but  that  she  was  the  same  free,  careless  child  she 
seemed,  and  little  did  any  one  think  that  upon  her  young 
heart  an  image  was  graven  indelibly  which  no  other  would 
ever  obliterate.  The  news  of  Louis  Montaine's  love  and 
engagement  for  and  to  another,  all  unexpected,  had  fallen 
like  a  death-knell  to  her  bright  dream,  withering  with  a 
sudden  wintry  blast  the  sweet  hope  held  so  sacredly  and 
dear.  And  now  when  alone,  with  a  pale,  quivering  face 
and  deep,  sobbing  sigh  she  throws  herself  on  the  bed,  moan- 
ing like  a  sorrowful,  disappointed  child,  and  as  she  lay 
there  seemed  a  crushed,  bruised  reed  from  this  first  blow 
of  earth's  heritage  upon  her  young  life. 

Sweet,  bright  Charlotte  Howard,  fate  has  not  been  kind  ; 
a  burden  has  been  cast  upon  her  young  life  early,  and  will 
she  bear  it  bravely,  coming  through  victorious,  or  let  it 
crush  out  all  the  joy  and  zest  of  her  existence  ? 

And  Louis  Montaine  ?  Was  it  only  a  passing  fancy,  a 
transient,  fleeting  interest  he  felt  for  this  child  thrown  so 
unexpectedly  across  his  pathway?  Who  can  tell?  His 
heart  is  strangely  stirred  this  night  and  he  tries  to  know 
why  he  should  feel  pleased,  secretly  glad  to  meet  her  again. 
There  is  a  sensation  of  regret,  added  to  the  pangs  of  re- 
morse, for  his  hasty  betrothal  to  his  beautiful  cousin,  and 
as  sleep  begins  to  cast  its  subtle  power  over  him,  between 
his  waking  and  dream-like  fancies  a  piquant,  sunny  face 
and  a  pair  of  roguish  brown  eyes  come  tantalizingly  before 
him  and  the  lovely  vision  of  his  betrothed  wife. 


THE  STOLEN  JEWELS. 


"Mr.  Burgoyne,  I  want  to  understand  what  you  intend 
doing.  Can  nothing  make  you  realize  to  what  a  fearful 
strait  you  have  brought  your  family?  After  reducing 
us  to  poverty,  from  your  extravagance  and  riotous  living, 
you  sent  me  back  home  a  beggar  on  the  charity  of  my 
brother.  But  think  you  that  I  would  go  to  that  brother 
and  tell  him  my  handsome  inheritance  was  gone,  that  noth- 
ing was  left  of  it  for  my  young,  helpless  children  ?  No, 
never ;  although  my  brain  has  reeled  on  the  very  verge  of 
insanity  under  the  accumulated  debts  I  was  obliged  to  incur 
from  time  to  time,  he  never  knew  a  word  of  it,  never  sus- 
pected, while  I  seemed  prosperous,  that  I  was  a  beggar — " 

"  The  more  fool  you,''  was  the  discourteous  interruption 
of  the  man  who  was  called  husband  and  father,  but,  alas, 
fell  so  short  of  the  meaning  of  those  words.  "Is  it  any  won- 
der, then,  he  has  left  you  nothing  from  his  millions  ?  You 
are  a  perfect  round  fool,  Harriet,  nothing  short  of  it." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  was  the  bitter  retort  of  the  half- 
crazed,  maddened  lady.  "  The  more  fool  I  was.  I  know 
you  expected  me  to  flee  to  my  brother  for  aid,  but,  thank 
Heaven,  I  did  not,  for  now  you  will  have  to  arouse  yourself 
or  else  see  your  family  homeless  paupers  on  the  street.  I 
can  hold  out  no  longer.  I  have  no  wealthy  brother  now 
wherewith  to  quiet  my  numerous  greedy  creditors.  Louis 
is  a  good,  generous  boy,  but  powerless  to  aid  me  if  he  knew 
my  great  needs.  Although  money  lay  rusting  for  use  there 
is  no  help  from  it  for  years  to  come,  and  not  then  if  Irene 
is  not  kept  up  in  the  style  Louis  has  been  accustomed  to 
see.  He  is  proud,  and  would  not  take  his  bride  from  poverty 
and  disgrace,  No,  Louis  Montaine  has  a  proud,  unblem- 
ished name  to  uphold,  and  I  know,  with  his  very  life's 


66 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


blood,  will  he  keep  it  from  dishonor.  Four  years  at  least 
are  before  us  before  his  great  wealth  can  benefit  us  any,  and 
in  the  meantime,  I  ask  what  are  we  to  do  ?  I  owe  every- 
body with  whom  I  have  had  dealings,  and  do  not  know 
where  to  turn  for  a  loaf  of  bread  wherewith  to  fill  the  chil- 
dren's hungry  mouths.  Horace,  do  you  understand  me?  Do 
you  realize  that  we  are  beggars  ?" 

"  You  are  trying  to  frighten  me,  Harriet.  It  cannot  be  so 
bad  as  you  make  it  out,  surely.  Do  you  not  own  this  house 
and  the  negroes  waiting  in  it,  and  where  are  your  stock 
bonds  ?  Come,  do  not  try  and  frighten  me,  woman.  You 
are  exaggerating,  it  cannot  be  true." 

"  Would  that  it  was  not  true,"  was  the  anguished  rejoinder, 
"  but  it  is  just  as  I  say,  without  coloring  or  exaggeration. 
Not  a  negro  have  I  to  sell ;  the  house  is  mortgaged  to  the 
last  dollar ;  the  little  stock  I  had  left  is  all  gone.  I  tell 
you,  Horace,  every  thing  is  gone,  we  are  beggars." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  man,  springing  up,  his  eyes  glar- 
ing and  his  face  livid  with  rage,  "you  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  the  house  and  negroes  are  all  sold  ?  that  you  own  noth- 
ing wherewith  to  raise  some  money  %  Are  you  insane, 
Harriet  ?" 

"Yea,  nearly  so.  What  do  you  think  I  have  been  living 
on,  Horace  \  When  last  did  you  send  me  a  dollar  ?  Not  for 
years ;  but  instead,  you  sent  me,  a  year  ago,  a  fashionable, 
expensive  daughter;  then  it  was  the  fight  began.  I  dressed 
her  richly,  gave  her  jewels,  and  allowed  her  every  advan- 
tage, to  try  and  get  her  married  well,  to  save  the  rapidly 
sinking  ship.  First  one  negro,  then  another,  was  mortgaged, 
to  obtain  the  finery  she  required.  This  house,  the  last 
house  I  had  left  from  so  many,  my  costly  jewels,  old  fami- 
ly plate,  every  thing  of  any  value,  was  sold,  all  flew  like 
chaff  before  the  extravagant  wants  of  'Rene;  then,  when  all 
was  gone,  I  had  to  resort  to  credit.  Every  one  trusted  me 
so  long  as  Edwin  was  alive,  knowing  that  if  I  failed  to  pay, 
before  a  public  exposure,  he  would  step  forward  and  liqui- 
date my  debts  for  me,  but,  thank  God,  he  died  ignorant  of 
it  all ;  then  after  all  my  strivings,  risking  the  las*  penny, 


The  Stolen  Jewels. 


67 


'Bene  turned  scornfully  away  from  two  magnificent  offers 
of  marriage  and  lavish  endowments,  and  fell  in  love  with 
her  cousin,  only  a  boy.     It  is  all  well,  for  Louis  is  im- 
mensely rich,  but  then,  how  many  years  she  must  wait.  It 
is  worth  every  struggle  to  gain  him  for  her  husband  ;  but 
who  is  to  make  this  struggle  ?    I  am  perfectly  powerless  to 
do  any  thing  more,  and  to  you,  the  rightful  provider  of  this 
household,  I  appeal,  to  avert  the  ruin  hanging  over  us. 
Think  what  is  at  stake,  Horace.     You  must  keep  us  afloat 
until  Louis  is  of  age.      It  would  be  horrible  for  her  to  lose 
such  a  chance,  and,  I  tell  you,  Louis  would  not  marry  'Rene 
if  he  has  to  lift  her  from  the  mire  of  poverty  and  disgrace. 
God  only  knows  what  is  to  be  done,  all  1  know  is,  that  I 
cannot  turn  in  any  direction  for  aid  in  this  terrible  mo- 
ment of  despair." 

Mrs.  Burgoyne  sank  down  with  a  wail  of  anguish,  bitter 
tears  of  wounded  pride,  mortification  and  despair,  coursing 
down  her  wan  cheeks,  while  her  once  handsome,  but  now, 
dissolute,  bloated-looking  husband,  still  paced  the  room  with 
nervous,  angry  strides.  The  words  of  his  wife  had  fallen 
with  stunning  realization  on  his  ears ;  he  knew  money  and 
credit  was  something  hard  for  him  to  obtain  ;  and  he  could 
see  nothing  but  ruin  staring  him  in  the  face,  and  in  a  fury 
he  turned  upon  his  crushed,  weeping  wife: 

"You  need  not  look  to  me  for  aid.  It  is.  out  of  the  ques- 
tion for  me  to  try  such  an  utter  impossibility,  as  to  avert  the 
imminent  ruin  you  depict  as  impending  over  us.  Knowing 
all  this,  how  could  you  be  such  a  confounded  goose  as  not  to 
let  your  miserly  brother  know  of  your  fearful  strait?  A  few 
of  his  thousands  in  your  pocket  would  be  much  better  than 
lying,  rusting,  in  the  bank." 

Then,  cooling  off  somewhat,  he  continued  : 

"Cannot  you  think  of  some  way,  Harriet,  to  raise  a  little 
money  ?  With  a  few  hundred  I  might  make  a  few  thou- 
sands at  the  gaming  table  ;  it  is  my  only  resort." 

But  seeing  his  wife  shake  her  head  mournfully,  he  went 
on  in  a  lower  tone : 

"I  tell  you  what  you  can  do,  Harriet.     Get  'Rene  to  go 


68 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


and  spend  a  few  days  with  a  friend,  and  let  her  leave  her 
diamond  betrothal  ring  with  you  for  safe  keeping ;  when 
she  returns  she  will  get  her  ring  back  and  I  will  have  a  lit- 
tle money  to  start  the  wheel  of  fortune  going.  Do  you  un- 
derstand me,  Harriet  ?" 

" Yes,  I  hear  and  understand  you  ;  but  you  dare  not  do 
this  crime,  this  wrong  to  your  own  daughter.  I  will  have 
nothing  to  do  in  such  a  matter.  I  would  follow  my  chil- 
dren to  the  poor-house  before  staining  my  soul  with  crime. 
You  need  not  look  to  me  for  assistance  that  way,  and,  for 
God's  sake,  Horace,  think  of  something  honorable  and  keep 
from  the  gaming  table.  You  have  a  profession,  find  hon- 
orable employment,  or  else  let  your  family  go  to  ruin.  I  am 
half  killed  now,  from  your  conduct  since  I  married  you. 
My  heart  is  fluttering  as  if  it  would  break  through  its  fet- 
ters, and  if  you  wish  to  murder  me  outright,  dare  to  touch 
one  thing  belonging  to  'Rene.  You  could  find  some  lucra- 
tive position  if  you  would  but  try,  I  can  give  up  the  house 
and  negroes  to  their  owners,  and  the  other  creditors  would 
wait  on  me  for  a  time,  with  a  promise  to  pay  them  when  I 
can,  then  I  could  retire  to  some  cheap,  country  boarding- 
house  with  the  children.  As  'Rene  is  engaged,  she  would 
willingly  go,  especially,  if  1  told  her  how  much  depended 
upon  our  immediate  retrenchment.  Be  a  man,  Horace,  and 
work  honorably  for  your  family  for  a  few  years,  at  least. 
The  future  good  of  'Rene  and  her  sisters  should  be  an  all 
important  incentive,  1  am  sure.  But  I  can  talk  and  urge  no 
more,  I  feel  so  sick  and  weary  at  heart,  I  must  go  and  lie 
down  ;  but  -I  again  warn  you,  Horace,  dare  not  touch  one 
of  'Rene's  jewels." 

And  with  a  distracted,  hopeless  air,  the  lady  left,  retiring 
to  her  chamber,  leaving  her  husband  with  folded  arms  and 
knitted  brows. 

''Where  is  'Rene?"  asked  Mrs.  Burgoyne,  the  next  morn- 
ing, as  she  entered  the  breakfast-room  at  rather  a  late  hour 
and  missed  her  eldest  daughter. 

"She  is  not  up  yet,  mamma.    I  called  and  called  her,  but 


The  Stolen  Jewels. 


69 


she  is  sound  asleep.  But,  mamma,  do  not  wait  breakfast 
on  her,  for  we  will  be  late  at  school,  and  I  am  so  hungry," 
and  Maude  Burgoyne  led  her  mother  unresistingly  up  to 
the  table. 

"  Is  your  father  up  ?"  questioned  the  lady  again,  as  she 
took  her  place  at  the  table  and  began  to  pour  out  the  half 
cold  coffee. 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  Sadie  replied.  "He  was  up  early,  but 
would  not  take  even  a  cup  of  coffee,  saying  he  had  some 
very  important  business  down  town." 

The  mother,  pale  and  faded,  tried  to  eat,  but  seemed  to 
have  lost  all  appetite,  and,  after  drinking  a  cup  of  coffee, 
pushed  back  from  the  table  and  took  up  the  morning  pa- 
per ;  but  scarcely  had  she  scanned  a  line  when  her  atten- 
tion is  arrested,  as  with  wild  eye3,  dishevelled  hair,  and  in 
her  night-dress,  Irene  rushes  in,  crying  frantically  : 

"  Oh,  mamma,  where  is  papa?  Kobbers  have  been  in 
the  house  last  night.  My  jewel  case  is  gone,  and  my  ring, 
my  engagement  ring,  is  stolen  from  my  finger.  What  will 
Louis  say,  his  mother's  diamond  ring,  which  he  entrusted 
to  my  care,  gone,  sto — ,"  but  here  her  wild  excitement  is 
interrupted,  as,  with  a  wilder  cry  she  springs  forward  and 
screams : 

"  What  have  I  done  !  Kun,  Sadie,  send  for  the  doctor, 
mamma  has  fainted ;  what  shall  I  do  ?  My  God,  I  believe 
she  is  dying." 

Wilder  and  wilder  became  the  screams  of  the  terror- 
stricken  girl,  and  making  the  confusion  yet  greater,  were 
added  to  them  the  cries  of  her  sisters  and  that  of  the  ser- 
vants, who  came  flocking  in  from  kitchen  and  chambers. 

The  physician  soon  arrived,  and  who  can  paint  the  heart- 
rending scene  which  followed,  when  he  pronounced  the 
mother  dead.  Scream  after  scream  rent  the  air,  and  Irene 
was  carried  off  to  her  chamber  raving  the  one  hysterical 
refrain,  "I  have  killed  mamma,,  oh  !  my  God,  I  have  killed 
my  mother." 

Kind  hands  were  soon  there,  ministering  to  the  living 
and  to  the  dead.    The  three  little  girls  were  carried  off  to  a 

5 


70 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


friend,  and  the  bereft,  agonized  Irene  put  under  the  in- 
fluence of  an  anodyne,  for  if  consciousness  was  allowed,  the 
most  violent  hysterics  racked  her  frame,  while  the  guilty 
father,  who  was  not  found  until  late  in  the  day,  and  then 
greatly  intoxicated,  lay  sleeping  the  sleep  of  drunkenness 
on  his  murdered  wife's  lounge. 

The  cold,  stiff  casket  which  had  so  lately  been  inhabited 
by  a  tortured  heart,  lay  in  utter  oblivion  to  all  these  sur- 
rounding elements  of  mystery  and  guilty  despair. 

No  eyes  but  the  all-seeing  eye  of  Jehovah  had  seen  and 
known  the  trials  of  this  once  happy  and  gifted  woman  ;  no 
heart  but  the  loving,  human  heart  of  Christ  had  sympa- 
thized in  her  griefs  and  sorrows  ;  for  they  had  all  been  hid 
away  from  the  eyes  of  man.  For  nineteen  years  she  had 
endured  a  life  of  torment,  unrest  and  fear,  with  the  ill- 
matched  choice  of  her  youth.    And  this  was  the  crisis. 

Thus  had  it  ended.  That  morning  she  had  arisen  from  a 
sleepless  couch,  with  languid,  dull  eyes,  and  a  heavy,  sore 
heart,  descended,  as  she  thought,  to  endure  another'day  of 
trial  and  fear.  As  her  terrified  child's  words  fell  with 
dreadful  meaning  upon  her  ears,  and  the  suspicion  who 
wa?  the  robber  flashed  through  her  mind,  the  poor,  flutter- 
ing heart,  which  was  sluggishly  performing  its  functions, 
gave  one  terrific  throb,  then  was  quiet  forever.  And,  with 
a  last,  deep,  gasping  sigh  the  released  spirit  fluttered  from 
its  earthly  prison  to  its  coveted  rest.  And,  instead  of  re- 
joicing for  her  release,  hear  the  wail  which  rends  the  air  ! 
'Oh !  short-sighted,  selfish  mortals,  let  the  burdened  mother 
go  in  peace  and  enjoy  her  rest. 

But,  as  no  one  likes  to  dwell  too  long  on  the  unhappy 
yet  inevitable  pages  of  human  existence,  we  will  pass  on 
rapidly,  allowing  the  two  days  of  anguish  and  bitterness, 
between  the  sudden  death  and  funeral  of  Mrs.  Burgoyne, 
to  be  conceived,  not  described.  The  latter  took  place  on 
the  morning  of  the  third  day,  with  a  great  display  of  car- 
riages and  solemn  pomp.  The  ancestral  vault  is  again 
opened,  and  the  brother  and  sister,  the  sufferers  and  deeply 
wronged  of  Horace  Burgoyne  laid  side  by  side,  and  were, 


The  Stolen  Jewels. 


7i 


we  trust,  reunited  in  a  happy,  tearless  reunion  in  Paradise. 

A  month  later,  a  letter  written  to  Louis  Montaine,  from 
his  betrothed,  will  explain  further  developments  : 

Charleston,  18,  

11  My  dear,  dear  Louis. — For  a  long  time  I  felt  grievously  wounded,  from 
your  seemingly  unkind  refusal  to  come  to  dear  mamma's  funeral.  I 
could  not  understand,  nor  believe  my  own  eyes  when  I  read  the  telegram 
saying  you  could  not  come ;  but,  after  thinking  it  over,  my  heart  has 
pardoned  you  freely  ;  for,  I  know,  you  must  have  shrunk  from  tearing 
afresh  the  lacerated  and  still  bleeding  wound,  inflicted  by  your  then  own 
recent  loss.  I  feel  now  that  I  did  not  sympathize  with  you  as  I  should  ; 
but  ah,  a  sad,  bitter  experience  has  taught  me  to  feel  for  another's  woes. 
I  know,  now,  my  poor,  dear  Louis,  what  a  loss  you  experienced  in  the 
death  of  your  dear  good  father ;  for,  oh !  my  mother,  how  every  day  I 
miss  her  more  and  more,  and  do  not  know  how  I  will  ever  become  recon- 
ciled to  her  loss,  the  magnitude  of  which  words  cannot  describe.  I  never 
knew,  never  realized  what  a  dear,  blessed  parent,  what  a  disinterested 
and  faithful  friend  she  was,  until  snatched,  so  suddenly,  so  terribly  from 
me.  And  then,  what  makes  it  all  so  much  worse,  so  real,  is  the  com- 
plete break-up  papa  has  made.  He  says  he  did  not  want  me  to  have  the 
care  of  the  house,  so  sold  out  everything,  even  to  my  piano.  I  did  not 
like  it  in  the  least.    I  could  have  managed  nicely  with  our  old  tried  and 

experienced  house  servants  ;  but  I  was  away  with  Mrs.  ,  mamma's  old 

friend,  and  when  I  returned  it  was  all  over,  with  rooms  engaged  at  the 

 Hotel ;  so,  it  is  best  perhaps.    I  have  it  pretty  comfortable,  but 

somehow  do  not  fancy  hotel  life,  and  I  cannot  help  pining  for  my  old 
happy  days.  I  miss  mamma,  and  oh  !  Louis,  how  I  miss  you,  my  dar- 
ling. It  seems  a  year  since  you  left  me,  and  it  is  only  five  weeks,  really. 
I  am  so  sad  and  lonely  ;  papa  is  out  all  the  time,  and  Maude  and  Sadie 
left  yesterday  for  North  Carolina,  where  they  will  remain  at  school  until 
they  graduate.  Little  Renzie  is  with  me,  but  she  is  so  troublesome,  cry- 
ing all  the  time  for  mamma  to  come  back.  I  never  did  like  the  care  of 
children,  nor  do  I  understand  how  to  manage  them,  and  I  tell  papa  he 
will  have  to  send  her  to  Aunt  Sarah,  out  in  Ohio,  or  else  get  her  a  nurse, 
and  yet  I  do  not  like  to  part  with  her,  for  she  was  mamma's  pet,  and  a 
great  pet  of  yours  also.  Renzie  has  often  made  me  jealous,  claiming 
your  attention  too  much  from  me,  but  the  care  of  a  child  is  too  hard  on 
me. 

The  students  here  at  the  College  have  a  nice,  pleasant  time,  and  when 
I  see  them  frolicing  around,  calling  in  on  friends,  full  of  college  boys' 
gay  chat  and  life,  I  can  almost  scream  with  vexation  to  think  what  I 
have  lost  by  your  going  away  from  Charleston.  Oh  !  Louis,  my  life,  my 
all,  how  I  miss  you  ;  I  long  to  see  you,  to  hear  the  dear  old  familiar  step, 
and  sweet,  cheery  voice,  so  full  of  sweet,  loving  words  for  me.  But  I 
must  hush,  you  will  not  like  to  hear  that  I  am  so  sad,  yet  how  can  I  help 
expressing  what  my  heart  is  so  brimful.  But,  my  love,  you  will  be  true 
to  me,  your  loving  'Rene  ? 

Cannot  you  arrange  it  somehow,  that  I  can  spend  the  summer  at  S  . 

It  will  be  so  nice  to  leave  the  city,  with  its  dust  and  heat,  for  the  sweet, 
green  country.    And  then,  so  delightful  to  be  near  where  I  can  see  you 


72 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


sometimes,  when  you  are  at  leisure.  But  I  will  no  tire  you  with  a  longer 
letter  this  time.  You  must  write  soon,  a  long,  long  letter.  You  have 
not  told  me  yet  how  you  like  the  country,  your  new  home  and  the  Par- 
son's family.  Are  there  any  pretty  girls  up  there?  Mind,  tell  me  the 
truth.  Remember  what  a  jealous,  loving  sweet-heart  you  have,  and  dare 
not  flirt.    I  will  be  true,  and  will  exact  the  same  from  you. 

Renzie  sends  love,  and  papa  begs  to  be  remembered  to  you,  and  you 
know  you  have  all  the  love  and  devotion  of 

Yours  entirely, 
'Rene." 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  RESEMBLANCE. 


"  Mrs.  Bentley,  who  is  this  Miss  Lila  Howard,  I  met  her 
this  afternoon  for  the  first  time,  and  she  is  the  fac-simile  of 
my  cousin  Irene." 

"  She  is  the  adopted  daughter  of  Mrs.  Howard.  I  have 
heard  several  times  of  this  likeness  to  your  cousin.  Mr. 
Bentley  perceived  it  while  in  Charleston,  but  I  suppose  it  is 
only  accidental,  I  cannot  account  for  it  any  other  way.  I 
have  often  met  persons,  entire  strangers  to  each  other,  look- 
ing very  much  alike,  and  this  is  just  such  a  case  I  expect." 

"  Yes,  perhaps  so ;  but  Mrs.  Bentley,  this  is  a  most  striking, 
remarkable  resemblance ;  then  every  one  who  has  seen  the 
two  fully  agrees  to  the  positive  likeness  existing.  I  cannot 
but  believe  that  'Rene  is  in  some  way  related  to  this  young 
lady.    Is  any  thing  known  of  her  past  life  ?" 

"  No.  Nothing  whatever  is  known  concerning  her  origin. 
Her  parentage  is  veiled  in  an  impenetrable  mystery.  But 
you  must  not  talk  this,  Louis ;  she  is  generally  known  as 
Mrs.  Howard's  daughter,  and  a  revival  of  the  past  would 
make  it  very  unpleasant  for  Lila,  and  she  is  naturally  very 
sensitive  on  the  subject  anyhow." 

"  I  would  not  mention  it  again,  you  may  rest  assured.  But 
how  came  Mrs.  Howard  to  adopt  her  ?  Something  must  be 
known  regarding  her  early  years,  or  from  where  she  came," 
still  queried  the  young  man,  seemingly  full  of  a  strange 
curiosity. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  recall  and  thus  expose  the  past,  but,  as 
you  seem  so  deeply  concerned  I  will  tell  you  all  that  is 
known." 

Mrs.  Bentley  then  briefly  explained  the  few  known  facts 
of  the  finding  and  adopting  of  the  deserted  babe,  some 
eighteen  years  before.    Louis  Montaine  listened  attentively, 


74 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


and  said,  thoughtfully,  when  the  lady  had  finished  her  re- 
cital : 

"  It  is  very  strange,  and  incomprehensible,  and  although 
not  explaining  this  extraordinary  likeness  existing,  it  does 
not  alter  the  fact  in  the  least.  It  is  not  only  that  these  two 
are  blondes,  of  the  same  type  of  beauty,  but  the  general 
expression  of  the  face,  the  tall,  graceful  form,  and  the  voice 
and  laugh,  are  the  very  same.  I  never  had  any  thing  to 
puzzle  me  so  before  in  my  life." 

"  Pshaw !  I  would  not  let  it  worry  me,  Louis,  if  I  were 
you.  Perhaps  she  is  some  relative  of  your  cousin's.  It  is 
believed  by  all  that  Lila's  parents  did  not  belong  to  this 
place,  but  that  she  was  left  here  by  some  summer  sojourner 
from  the  cities,  or,  as  Miss  Graham  declares,  'some  Yankee.' 
'She  is  a  Northern  blonde,  with  not  a  vein  filled  with  the 
warm,  blue  blood  of  a  Southerner',  is  that  lady's  positive 
assertion ;  but  it  is  hard  to  say,  for  your  cousin  is  a  blonde, 
and  a  Southron." 

"  Yes,  but  her  father  is  not,  he  came  from  the  North,  I 
believe,  and  they  say  Irene  is  his  perfect  counterpart.  It  is 
certain  that  she  does  not  resemble  her  mother.  The  Mon- 
taines  were  never  noted  for  their  beauty.  I  cannot  recall 
to  mind  whether  I  ever  heard  of  Mr.  Burgoyne  having  any 
other  relative  than  a  sister,  who  I  hear  them  speak  of  some- 
times as  a  maiden  lady,  residing  somewhere  in  Ohio.  This 
thing  puzzles  me  greatly.  Look  for  yourself,  Mrs.  Bentley, 
and  say,  if  this  miniature  is  not  Miss  Lila  Howard's  fac 
simile."  And  again  the  proud,  beautiful  face  of  Irene  Bur- 
goyne was  displayed  to  view. 

The  lady  took  the  case  handed  to  her,  and  after  a  careful 
scrutiny,  said  reflectively  : 

"  Certainly,  it  is  very  much  like  Lila.  There  is  a  differ- 
ence, but  the  resemblance  is  strikingly  perceptible.  This 
face  is  brighter,  and  happier  looking,  the  eyes  more  brill- 
iant and  humorous.  Lila  has  a  sad  and  dreamy  cast  over 
her  features,  and  her  beauty  is  more  refined  and  delicate, 
yet  I  can  distinctly  see  the  resemblance,  which  seems  to 
trouble  you  so  much,  but,  as  we  cannot  account  for  it,  I 
think  it  best  not  to  worry  about  it." 


The  Mysterious  Resemblance.  75 

"  Yes,  that  is  certainly  the  wisest  plan,  but,  Mrs.  Bentley," 
and  the  young  man  laughed  outright,  "  it  is  not  only  this 
resemblance  which  annoys  me,  I  have  had  Masie,  and  Harry 
and  Arthur  Howard  to  tell  me,  that  my  mother's  portrait, 
which  hangs  over  my  desk,  is  so  much  like  this  Miss  Lila, 
and  do  you  know,  I  saw  it  immediately  ?  My  mother  and 
and  'Rene  Burgoyne  are  just  as  different  in  looks  as  it  is 
possible  for  two  individuals  to  be,  and  yet,  it  is  a  positive 
fact,  that  Miss  Lila  Howard  resembles  them  both.  You  can 
laugh,  but  it  is  so,  without  any  imagination.  You  take  no- 
tice yourself,  and  I  know  you  cannot  fail  to  perceive  the 
likeness.  I  have  been  in  a  real  quandary,  ever  since  I  met 
Miss  Lila,  over  this  two-fold  resemblance,  and  could  not  rest 
until  coming  to  you,  and  endeavoring  to  find  out  something 
concerning  this  mysterious  young  lady  ;  but,  instead  of  solv- 
ing the  riddle,  you  have  only  made  it  more  intricate ;  for  I 
noticed  just  now,  as  you  were  explaining  about  the  finding 
of  the  child,  that  you  said  her  clothing  was  marked,  'L.  R. 
M.'  They  are  the  initials  of  my  name,  Louis  Ralph  Mon- 
taine.    What  can  it  mean  ?" 

"  It  certainly  does  seem  very  strange,  Louis,  but  I  can 
see  no  way  of  unraveling  the  mystery  for  you,  and  can 
only  advise  you  to  let  it  pass  by  quietly  on  the  current  of 
passing  events,  time  may  explain  what  is  vain  for  us  to  try 
to  unfathom  now.  And  this  is  the  portrait  of  your  cousin  ? 
She  is  very  beautiful,  and  what  lovely  eyes  !  She  is  much 
handsomer  than  Lila." 

The  youth's  troubled  face  changed  to  an  expression  of 
pleased  tenderness,  as  the  latter  words  were  spoken,  in  evi- 
dent sincere  admiration,  and  he  answered  : 

"  Yes,  'Rene  is  very  beautiful,  and  I  want  to  believe  that 
I  have  won  a  gem,  but  they  tell  me  these  handsome  wo- 
men never  make  good,  true  wives.  What  do  you  think 
about  it,  Mrs.  Bentley?" 

"  Well,  Louis,  to  be  frank,  I  must  say  that,  as  a  general 
thing,  they  do  not  make  the  best  wives.  A  beautiful  wo- 
man is  fond  of  admiration,  and  is  not  satisfied  with  the  ad- 
miration of  her  husband,  always,  but  then  you  know  there 


76 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


are  exceptions  to  every  rule.5'  Then  with  a  little  hesitancy 
she  went  on : 

"  Now,  Louis,  mentioning  this  subject,  will  you  allow  me 
to  say  a  few  words  on  it  without  getting  vexed,  or  mi  sn- 
terpreting  my  motives?  Do  you  think  and  feel  it  right,  to 
indulge  in  this  hope  of  marrying  your  cousin  in  direct  oppo- 
sition to  your  father's  wishes?  You  should  think  well  of 
this  serious  matter  before  going  too  far.  Do  not  get  offen- 
ded, my  dear  young  friend.  I  speak  to  you  as  a  mother 
would,  and  I  know  if  she  were  here,  she  would  not  have 
you  marry  Miss  Burgoyne.'' 

A  hot  flush  swept  over  the  face  of  the  young  man,  while 
an  angry,  defiant  fire  blazed  from  the  deep  gray  eyes,  as  he 
rather  thoughtfully  said : 

"  And  why,  pray,  would  my  mother  object  to  my  mar- 
riage with  'Rene  Burgoyne,  and  how  can  you  say  that  my 
father  was  opposed  to  this  marriage?  You  assume  too 
much,  Mrs.  Bentley,  in  speaking  so  strongly,  and  I  would,  as 
a  special  favor,  request  that  neither  you  nor  Mr.  Bentley 
will  interfere  in  this  matter.  It  has  gone  too  far,  there  is 
no  retraction.  I  am  not  willfully  disobeying  my  father's 
wishes,  for  he  made  known  no  such  wishes  to  me,  and  I 
was  ever  at  his  side  during  his  last,  fatal  illness,  and  if  he 
was  so  bitterly  opposed  to  my  union  with  'Rene,  why  could 
he  not  have  told  me  so,  instead  of  telling  Mr.  Bentley,  and 
then  I  would  not  have  taken  the  fatal  step.  I  would  have 
understood  his  wishes,  and  no  sacrifice  would  have  been  too 
great  for  me  to  make  to  observe  those  wishes.  But  now  it 
is  impossible  to  retract  what  has  been  done.  It  is  not  my 
fault  that  I  have  crossed  the  Rubicon.  'Rene  Burgoyne  is 
my  betrothed  wife,  and  if  you,  Mrs.  Bentley,  have  been 
empowered  to  oppose,  and  try  to  put  me  off  from  this  mar- 
riage, it  is  vain  for  you  both  to  attempt  it.  And  although 
it  renders  me  very  miserable  to  hear  that  my  father  ex- 
pressed any  such  wish  to  Mr.  Bentley,  I  could  not  go  back 
on  my  honor,  to  break  my  engagement,  because  of  this  very 
strange  and  incomprehensible  piece  of  news  I  have  learned 
since  his  death.     I  admit  that  my  father  had  objections 


The  Mysterious  Resemblance. 


77 


against  me  marrying  the  daughter  of  Horace  Burgoyne,  be- 
cause of  some  old  feud  which  existed  between  them,  but  I 
cannot  believe  that  my  father  died  with  his  enmity  unfor- 
given,  or  else,  I  repeat,  why  did  he  not  tell  me  that  he  did 
not  wish  that  I  should  marry  'Rene,  instead  of  confiding 
that  wish  to  another,  and  leaving  me  free  to  act  out  my  in- 
clination ?  Nothing  can  be  done  now,  and  I  would  be  very 
much  obliged  to  both  Mr.  Bentley  and  you,  if  I  hear  no 
more  about  this  matter." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Louis,  I  took  it  upon  myself  to  inter- 
fere, as  it  seems  to  have  made  you  so  angry.  I  merely  heard 
Mr.  Bentley  express  a  care  that  he  had  undertaken  to  do 
more  than  he  felt  he  could  do,  to  try  and  make  you  under- 
stand and  observe  your  father's  dying  wishes  in  regard  to 
your  marriage  with  Miss  Burgoyne,  and  a  wife's  wish  to 
help  her  husband  induced  me  to  talk  as  I  did.  Pardon  me, 
my  dear  young  friend,  if  I  hurt  your  feelings  in  any 
way,  and  I  promise  never  to  refer  to  the  subject  again.  I 
think  it  very  strange  myself  that  your  father  should  have 
confided  his  wishes  to  Henry  and  not  to  you.  It  was  rather 
a  difficult  and  delicate  matter  to  leave  to  another,  for  as 
you  say  it  has  gone  so  far  I  do  not  see  that  any  thing  could 
be  done.  If  you  love  and  are  engaged  to  your  cousin,  I 
do  not  think  it  right  or  kind  for  any  one  to  try  and  put  you 
against  it.  It  would  be  cruel  toward  the  young  lady,  and 
not  justifiable  to  yourself.  1  trust,  Louis,  you  do  not  doubt 
us,  nor  misinterpret  our  motives.  We  can  have  no  possible 
interest  in  your  matrimonial  affairs,  for  you  know  both 
Masie  and  Florence  are  mortgaged  property." 

"  O,  of  course,  Mrs.  Bentley,  I  understand  and  appreci- 
ate the  purity  of  your  intentions,  and  I  am  not  in  any  way 
offended,  but  very  much  pained  and  worried  to  hear  of 
such  a  task  being  imposed  upon  Mr.  Bentley.  I  wish  my 
dear  father  had  confided  in  me  ;  my  desire  to  please  and  do 
whatever  he  wished  was  paramount  to  every  other  consid- 
eration, and  as  he  never  mentioned  the  subject  to  me  during 
his  illness,  after  his  death  I  felt  privileged  to  ask  her  to 
become  my  wife,  never  divining  then  that  I  would  suffer 


78  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

so  for  my  precipitancy,  for  suffer  I  do  to  have  it  told  me 
now,  that  my  fathers  dying  wish  was  against  this  marriage. 
All  the  joy  and  zest  of  life  is  destroyed  by  this  knowledge, 
but  what  can  I  do  now,  Mrs.  Bentley  %  Are  either  you  or 
Mr.  Bentley  aware  of  the  nature  of  the  bitter  wrong  done 
my  father  by  Mr.  Burgoyne  V 

"  I  am  not,  Louis,  but  cannot  answer  for  Mr.  Bentley. 
Henry  has  never  spoken  to  me  on  the  subject.  I  remem- 
ber at  the  time  of  your  mother's  death  your  father  sent  for 
my  husband,  and  on  his  return  I  was  quite  sick.  My  Flor- 
ence was  born  about  that  time  and  he  did  not  tell  me  much 
concerning  the  sad  visit  he  had  made,  but  I  recollect  him 
saying  that  what  made  your  father's  bereavement  heavier  was 
on  account  of  his  exceeding  loneliness — having  no  relative 

in  C  except  his  baby  son  ;  and  on  my  inquiring  where 

his  sister  was  he  made  answer,  saying  she  was  in  France  ; 
that  her  husband  had  bitterly,  foully  wronged  Mr.  Mon- 
taine  and  was  obliged  to  flee  the  country  and  had  taken  his 
family  with  him,  and  that  the  two  sorrows,  coming  one 
after  the  other,  had  nigh  crushed  your  father  to  death.'  1 
have  never  heard  Mr.  Bentley  allude  to  it  since,  and  should 
suppose  it  was  some  financial  wrong ;  but,  Louis,  I  would 
not  recall  nor  dwell  upon  the  past  and  its  sad  memories. 
Let  by-gones  be  by-gones  and  look  to  the  future  with  faith 
and  hope  ;  let  time  ^ork  its  results,  I  will  pray  for  you  that 
they  may  be  happy,  peaceful  results.  Do  not  worry  over 
what  you  cannot  alter,  but  only  trust  in  God,  and  do  what 
you  think  is  right  and  it  will  come  out  well." 

"  I  presume  it  is  useless  to  discuss  these  several  perplex- 
ities, and  sincerely  hope  they  may  all  come  out  well.  Your 
advice  is  admirable  ;  but  ah  !  Mrs.  Bentley,  it  is  so  much 
easier  to  give  advice  than  for  the  one  to  whom  it  is  given 
to  follow  it.  Although  you  mean  well,  for  which  I  thank 
you  kindly,  I  must  confess  that  I  am  not  consoled,  but  feel 
miserably  unhappy  and  distressed.  It  is  easy  enough  to  do 
the  right  and  trust  in  God,  but  it  is  hard  for  me  just  now 
to  know  what  is  the  right,"  and  with  a  doleful  shake  of 
the  head  the  young  man  laughed  mournfully. 


The  Mysterious  Resemblance.  79 

"  Trust  in  God  and  do  the  right,  yea,  but  how  much 
easier  is  it  said  than  to  be  done,"  is  the  mental  decision  of 
Louis  Montaine  as  he  sits  in  his  room  thinking,  thinking, 
and  going  over  again,  the  hundredth  time  perhaps,  the  same 
questioning — was  he  right  or  wrong  in  persisting  to  have 
his  own  way  in  opposition  to  his  deceased  father's  wishes  ? 
"  But  why  should  my  father  at  that  awful,  supreme  time 
tell  this  wish  to  another  and  not  say  one  word  on  the  sub- 
ject to  me  V  is  the  torturing,  perplexing,  mental  query. 
The  chain  that  bound  him  did  not  seem  silken,  but  rather 
an  iron  fetter.  The  bondage  awhile  ago  so  sweet  and  de- 
sirable, felt  like  a  barred  prison  to  him  this  night,  and 
although  he  tried  not  to  acknowledge  it  he  felt  that  freedom 
would  be  gladly  accepted  by  him,  if  it  could  be  gained 
without  any  forfeiture  to  his  honor.  In  his  dreams,  through 
the  fitful  hours  of  slumber,  no  form  of  beauty  nor  fancies 
of  delicious  realities  came  to  him  as  of  yore,  but  the  sad, 
reproachful  face  of  his  father  haunted  him  with  revengeful 
persistence,  and  Louis  Montaine,  with  all  his  boasted  talk  of 
justifiable  right  to  wed  his  lovely  cousin,  felt,  with  keen 
pain  and  remorse,  that  he  was  sorry  for  his  impetuous 
haste,  felt  sorry  he  was  fettered  with  vows  he  knew  not 
how  to  break,  but  from  which  he  sincerely  wished  he  was 
freed.  The  one  anguished  desire  of  his  heart  now  was  to 
please,  and  thus  rid  himself  of  that  haunting,  reproachful 
face — the  face  of  his  dear,  dead  father. 

"  My  father,  my  father,"  is  the  agonized  cry,  the  wild 
prayer,  as  he  tosses  on  his  sleepless  couch,  u  Oh !  that  I 
could  but  speak  one  word  to  you,  and  hear  from  your  lips, 
now  closed  in  death,  what  I  must  do.''  But  the  moments 
only  ticked  by  wearily,  and  at  last  the  morning  dawned,  yet 
bringing  no  balm  for  the  unhappy,  perplexed  youth ;  but  a 
promise  of  transient  forgetfulness  during  the  hours  of  ex- 
citement and  engrossment  in  his  daily  duties  at  College. 

Sitting  alone,  deeply  immersed  in  the  knotty  problems 
of  some  mathematical  study,  that  afternoon,  he  is  disturbed 
by  the  entrance  of  little  Edwin,  who  handed  him  a  letter, 
and  instantly  ran  off  to  his  interrupted  play. 


8o 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


Laying  aside  his  book,  Louis  Mon  taine  broke  the  seal  of 
the  dainty,  perfumed  little  envelope,  and,  although  he 
knew  well  from  whom  it  had  come,  no  eagerness  or  glad- 
ness was  apparent  in  his  manner;  but  rather  a  nervous  dis- 
turbed look  flitted  over  his  face,  and  as  he  perused  the 
delicately  written  lines,  his  countenance  gave  evidence  that 
they  were  not  highly  gratifying,  and  when  he  came  to  the 
last  clause,  it  grew  dark,  and  he  bit  his  lips  in  evident 
chagrin.  The  complaining,  fretful  words,  and  the  unfeel- 
ing remarks  about  che  dear  little  motherless  child,  pining 
for  its  mother's  love  and  care,  and  the  selfish  desire  to  get 
rid  of  it,  and  consign  it  to  the  care  of  an  aunt  he  had  often 
heard  her  speak  of  as  a  "crabbed  old  maid,''  shocked  and 
pained  him  beyond  words,  displaying  as  it  did  so  vividly 
a  selfish,  unsisterly  spirit.  The  dissatisfaction  at  his  ab- 
sence, which  she  so  deplored,  failed  to  make  amends  for 
the  complaints  of  this  dear  baby  sister,  whom  he  knew  to 
be  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  affectionate  of  children, 
and  whom  he  loved  very  dearly  and  fondly. 

"  She  does  not  like  children,"  he  muttered ;  "  why,  I 
thought  she  adored  them.  I  am  sure  she  has  often  told  me 
so."  Would  she  dislike  the  care  of  her  own  children,  he 
thought,  and  be  one  of  those  unnatural,  fashionable  parents, 
who  cast  their  children  from  them,  to  the  care  of  a  hire- 
ling ?  The  thought  pained  him  keenly.  It  did  not  suit  his 
ideas  of  what  a  mother  or  sister  should  be.  Then,  the  last 
lines  of  this  letter  of  painful  revelation,  with  a  cloudy  brow 
he  read  and  thought  them  over ;  he  did  not  like  that  she 
should  mistrust  his  loyalty.  "Why  cannot  'Bene  trust  me, 
and  not  display  so  much  needless  jealousy  ?"  the  vein  which 
ran  through  every  letter  he  had  ever  received,  and  which 
was  beginning  to  get  wearisome. 

"  O !  'Rene,  'Rene,  it  is  too  bad  to  talk  thus,"  he  mur- 
mured. Then  a  softer  light  came  over  the  frowning,  angry 
face,  as  the  thought  of  the  poor  girl's  loneliness  came  to 
mind.  Her  mother,  snatched  so  suddenly  from  her,  her 
sisters  sent  away,  her  home  broken  up,  and  her  life  in  a 
strange,  public  hotel.  Much  that  seemed  harsh  to  him  a 
minute  ago,  his  heart  now  excused. 


The  Mysterious  Resemblance. 


81 


"  Poor  girl,''  he  thought,  "  she  wants  me  there  with  her. 
Why  was  it  ordered  that  we  should  be  separated  ?"  But 
somehow  his  heart  did  not  regret  the  ordering.  He  was 
beginning  to  feel  satisfied  with  his  present  life.  He  liked 
Mr.  Bentley  and  his  pleasant,  happy  family,  of  which  he 
now  formed  a  part,  and  could  not  but  acknowledge  that  he 
would  rather  have  it  just  as  it  was,  now,  that  his  father 
was  dead,  his  once  happy,  but  now  desolate  home  closed. 

"  I  am  sorry  'Rene  cannot  trust  me,  and  not  make  herself 
quite  miserable  by  her  jealous  fears,"  he  soliloquised  ;  an 
uncomfortable,  rather  guilty  look  flitting  over  his  thought- 
ful, expressive  face.  Then,  taking  out  the  portrait  of  his 
beautiful  cousin,  he  gazed  earnestly  on  the  lovely  face  ;  but 
put  it  aside,  rather  impatiently,  rising  and  walking  the  floor 
with  a  troubled  brow,  as  if  he  wished  to  rid  himself  of  some 
uncomfortable,  intruding  thought. 

Ah,  Louis  Montaine,  what  is  it?  Do  not  a  pair  of 
bonny  brown  eyes,  the  sweet,  sunny  face  of  some  one  else, 
come  between  the  beautiful,  but  cold,  passionless  face  of 
the  picture  ?  Did  not  some  presentiment  of  her  possibly 
injured  claims,  make  the  absent  'Rene  adjure  her  lover  to 
be  true  ?  This  comparing  of  the  two  faces  was  beginning  to 
become  a  bug-bear  to  the  boy.  And  now,  as  he  shut  the 
one  from  his  view,  he  tried  to  drive  the  other  from  his 
thoughts,  taking  himself  to  task  by  trying  to 'understand 
what  it  meant,  and  asking  the  mental  query  if  'Rene's 
fears  were  entirely  groundless  ?  He  could  not  deny  to  him- 
self that  he  liked  this  sweet,  bright,  girl,  who  had  crossed  his 
pathway  so  strangely,  more  than  it  was  right  to  do,  in  jus- 
tice to  his  betrothed  wife.  He  knew  her  society  was  very 
pleasant,  but  hitherto  had  not  paused  to  question,  if  not 
dangerous  and  wrong.  He  felt  it  more  pleasurable,  more 
interesting,  to  look  upon  the  speaking,  animated,  piquant 
face  of  the  one,  than  to  gaze  upon  the  lovely,  but  cold, 
motionless  portrait  of  the  other.  Separated  from  the  be- 
witching presence  of  his  affianced,  he  recalled  much  that 
was  selfish,  shallow  and  hidden  about  her,  remembered 
many  little  instances  connected  with  her  that  he  did  not 
like. 


S3 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


.  "  What  is  it  that  disturbs  me  so  ?"  he  queries  moodily. 
"  What  a  fool  I  am  to  be  thinking  all  this  nonsense  !  Am 
I  not  satisfied  with  my  choice  ?  Is  not  'Rene  suited  in 
every  way  for  my  wife  ?  I  could  not  find  a  better  mistress 
to  preside  over  my  palatial  home,  to  dispense  gracefully 
the  hospitalities  of  my  establishment ;  but,  will  she  make 
my  home  happy  ?  Will  she  be  a  loving,  tender  wife,  and 
fill  the  cravings  of  my  heart ;  will  she  make  the  dear  wife 
and  loving  companion  that  I  want  ?"  Thus  he  questions 
and  tries  to  answer  the  questioning  satisfactorily  ;  but  try  as 
he  will,  his  heart,  traitor-like,  turns  back  to  the  whole-soul- 
ed, bright,  little  Lottie  Howard,  and  with  a  fiush  of  shame 
on  his  cheek,  and  guilty  but  pleased  glitter  in  the  deep, 
intense  eyes,  he  allows  himself  to  think  that  he  cannot  help 
it. 

"  To-morrow  morning,  I  will  see  her,  with  her  sunny 
curls  flying  carelessly  alout  the  saucy  little  head,  her 
sweet,  bright,  face,  and  bonny  eyes,  lighted  up  with  un- 
concerned happiness,  the  cherry  lips  parted  in  smiles,  or 
elst  singing  to  her  little  Sunday-school  scholars,  who  cluster 
so  lovingly  around  her  ;  and  how  can  I  help  thinking  what 
a  charming  little  wife  she  would  make,  what  a  fond,  lov- 
ing mother  ?"  But  this  is  not  for  you  to  think  of,  Louis 
Montaine !  She  will  carry  all  this  light  and  happiness  to 
another's  home.  You  have  chosen  for  yourself,  be  satis- 
fied. 


LILA'S  SECRET. 


Winter's  reign  is  over,  and  tearful  jet  joyous,  coquettish 
April,  throws  her  mantle  of  fresh  green  over  the  earth, 
smiling  bewitchingly  on  her  enraptured  lovers  ;  then,  as  if 
filled  with  sorrows  for  casting  hoary  old  winter  aside,  she 
weeps  and  turns  chillily  away,  but,  with  impulsive  repent- 
ance, smiles  and  becomes  even  more  radiant  than  before. 
Ah  !  fickle,  inconstant,  yet  gleeful  month,  why  is  it  you  do 
not  bring  joy  to  every  heart  ?  Although  your  balmy  breath 
is  freighted  with  the  sweet  perfume  of  the  early  rose  and 
sweet  jessamine,  banishing  the  frosty  winds,  and  clothing 
the  bare  trees  and  shrubbery  with  fresh,  new  garments  ;  the 
hard,  crisp  ground  with  a  soft,  dewy  carpet ;  causing  the 
happy,  gay  birds  exquisite  delight,  as  they  hop  from  bough 
to  bough,  trilling  their  glad  notes  as  they  see,  with  parental 
joy  and  sagacity,  the  green  foliage  will  soon  permit  them  to 
build,  in  apparent  security,  the  cosy  little  nests  wherein  to 
rear  their  birdlings.  But  why  is  it  you  do  not  bring  in 
your  train  of  brightness,  joy  and  thankfulness  to  the  human 
heart? 

It  is  Friday  afternoon,  and  Miss  April  is  in  the  best  of 
humors.  The  sky  is  of  the  deepest  blue,  with  soft,  fleecy 
clouds  drifting  gracefully  over  the  cerulean  surface,  the  air 
balmy  and  delicious,  just  cool  enough  to  be  pleasant,  with- 
out the  chill  of  winter  or  the  heat  of  summer.  All  nature 
seemed  to  smile,  and  every  ching  redolent  in  those  smiles,  it 
seems,  should  have  conveyed  joy  and  pleasure  to  all.  And 
yet  Lila  Howard  sits  in  her  chamber  alone,  with  winter  in 
her  heart,  and  with  winter's  icyness  on  her  face. 

The  room  itself  is  cool,  sweet  and  pleasant.  The  dainty 
bed,  robed  in  spotless  white,  the  snowy,  muslin  curtains, 
wafted  gracefully  by  the  soft,  sweet-scented  breeze ;  the- 


34 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


pretty  little  balcony,  with  its  clambering  vines,  rustic  hang- 
ing-baskets and  choice  geraniums,  gave  to  the  place  an  air 
of  quiet*  peace  and  happiness.  A  cosy  little  study  commu- 
nicated with  the  chamber,  and  it  was  a  perfect  picture  in  it- 
self, with  books,  pictures,  tasteful  rural  ornaments,  and 
fresh  flowers  placed  artistically  about  in  cunning  little  moss 
baskets  and  pretty  Parian  vases,  displaying  an  exquisite 
taste,  busy  fingers'  handiwork,  and  an  appreciative  love  for 
the  beauties  of  nature,  and  a  lavish  use  of  nature's  gifts. 
And  yet,  with  cosy,  pretty  comforts  and  peaceful  quietness 
within,  and  inviting,  delightful  weather  without,  the  lonely 
girl  sits,  unconscious  of  them  all,  brooding  over  her  quiver- 
ing, tortured  heart's  pain. 

If  happiness  would  only  irradiate  that  countenance,  and 
loom  up  in  the  lustrous,  sad  eyes,  how  very  lovely  would 
she  be  ;  but  a  peevish  unhappy  disposition,  combined  with 
thwarted  wishes,  a  want  of  sympathetic,  maternal  affection, 
and  the  ever-present  thought  of  the  mystery  shrouding  her 
life,  had  left  their  impress  upon  the  youthful  face,  robbing 
it  of  much  of  its  natural  beauty. 

Poor  Lila  !  Life  ever  hard,  seemed  a  knotty  problem  to 
her  just  now,  and  her  nature,  completely  devoid  of  courage 
and  energy,  knew  not  how  to  meet  and  battle  with  it  suc- 
cessfully. 

With  her  elbows  resting  on  her  knees,  her  head  resting 
on  her  hands,  white,  exquisite  hands,  with  the  delicate  blue 
veins  interlining  them,  she  sits  thinking,  planning,  and 
thinking  again,  but  to  no  avail.  Back  she  returns  to  the 
consciousness  of  her  utter  inadequacy  to  action,  to  alleviate 
her  dependent  condition,  to  which  she  is  so  keenly  sensi- 
tive, and  with  a  shudder  of  horror  she  thinks  of  the  only 
alternative,  but  shrinks  back  appalled  against  this  only  hope 
of  escape. 

The  week  before  she  had  voluntarily  left  school,  refus- 
ing utterly  to  go  another  year  and  honorably  graduate,  as 
was  the  wish  of  her  adopted  brother  and  sister.  She  had 
ever  been  indifferent,  careless,  and  shrinking  from  hard, 
dry  studies,  and  had  profited  very  little  from  the  advan- 


Lilas  Secret. 


85 


tages  which  she  had  enjoyed,  excelling  only  in  music.  She 
was  passionately  fond  of  the  latter  accomplishment,  and 
had  become  quite  a  proficient  musician.  , 

As  her  beautiful  hands,  with  interest  and  skill,  ran  over 
the  piano-keys,  her  face  lighted  into  beauty,  and  her  eyes 
made  lovely  from  the  pleasurable  appreciation  flashing  in 
their  blue  depths,  her  instructor,  a  wealthy  professor  of 
some  sixty  odd  years  of  age,  fell  desperately  in  love  with 
the  beautiful  but  nameless  girl. 

Arthur  Howard,  ever  ready  for  mischief,  and,  no  doubt, 
anxious  to  get  his  adopted  sister  married,  as  their  financial 
affairs  were  quite  limited,  and  ebbing  lower  each  year,  en- 
couraged the  old  gentlemen  to  persevere  in  his  seemingly 
hopeless  suit,  telling  him  that  he  knew  Lila  liked  him  right 
well,  but  was  proud  and  hard  to  win.  Calling  to  the  mind 
of  the  aged  lover,  when  apt  to  despair,  the  old  adage:  "Faint 
heart  never  won  fair  lady  ;''  adding,  encouragingly,  that  in 
this  case  the  lady  was  very  fair,  and  it  required  a  stout 
heart  to  storm  the  citadel  of  her  affections  and  gain  the  pos- 
session of  her  heart  and  hand.  And,  with  this  encourage- 
ment, the  old  professor  persevered  on,  unheeding  her  cold 
looks  and  repulsing  manner,  ever  hoping,  and  constantly 
aided  by  Arthur's  significant  looks  and  sly  words  of  cheer, 
and  notwithstanding  Lila's  unwillingness,  he  was  her  de- 
voted suitor.  Poor  Lila  had  been  made  to  understand 
pretty  clearly  by  Miss  Graham,  and  had  frequently  under- 
stood strong  hints  thrown  out  by  the  brother,  that  she  must 
try  to  get  married  and  thus  secure  a  home  and  support,  for 
there  were  no  surplus  means  to  spare  on  her  longer. 

And  now  the  perplexed,  miserable  girl's  thoughts  revert 
with  shuddering  horror  and  loathing  to  this  cruel,  repug- 
nant fate  menacing  her. 

"Yes,  they  expect  me  to  marry  this  old,  ugly  man,"  she 
murmured  with  a  shiver.  "But,  my  God!  how  can  I, 
when  I  loathe  his  presence,  hate  the  sound  of  his  voice  I 
Yet,  what  can  I  do  %  I  am  not  welcome  in  this  house,  and  I 
cannot  work ;  I  hate  the  sight  of  a  book,  and  never  could 
have  patience  to  teach  children.  Oh !  my  God,  I  am  so  tired 
of  my  useless  life  !"  6 


86 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


Again  her  thoughts  turn  back  to  its  old  yet  poignant 
pain,  the  hidden  mystery  of  her  birth  and  parentage,  and 
she  goes. on  in  the  same  bewailing  tone  : 

"What  can  I  expect  ?  Poor,  dependent,  with  no  rightful 
home,  no  rightful  name  to  my  knowledge.  A  despised 
waif,  I  can  never  make  a  happy  marriage  with  a  gentleman, 
a  refined,  respectable  young  man,  who  has  a  name  to  up- 
hold. Not  one  will  be  found  who  would  dare  wed  the 
poor,  nameless  waif.  Would  that  I  knew  my  rightful  namel 
but  ah  !  God,  perhaps,  I  have  none.  Oh  !  father,  mother, 
who  are  you  ?"  she  cried  convulsively,  "are  you  both  dead, 
or  did  you  cast  me  away,  a  child  of  dishonor  ?  Ah  !  what 
cm  I  expect  from  strangers,  when  my  natural  parents  threw 
me  atide  thus,  and  can  I  wonder  that  others  wish  to  get  rid 
of  me  too  ?  I  wish  that  I  could  decide  what  to  do.  Must 
I  crush  all  hopes  of  ever  being  happy,  and  wed  this  old 
man,  who  is  willing  to  take  the  poor  castaway  creature  for 
whom  no  one  seems  to  care  ?" 

She  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  her  hands — small,  beau- 
tiful hands — with  the  delicate  blue  veins  plainly  visible,  and 
murmured  reflectively  :  "  The  blood  that  courses  through 
my  veins  is  blue,  and  they  say  that  blue  blood  denotes 
gentility  and  good  birth.  1  know,  I  feel,  I  descended  from 
no  common,  vulgar  people.  Oh !  that  I  could  but  un- 
fathom  my  origin,  discover  who  my  parents  were.''  A 
look  of  agony  came  into  the  fair,  young  face,  an  intense, 
painfully  intense,  searching  expression  into  the  blue,  agon- 
ized eyes;  but  everything  was  dark,  clouded,  buried  in  an 
utterly  impenetrable  oblivion.  And  back  her  thoughts  sway 
to  the  real  momentous  question  troubling  her  now,  and  she 
mentally  soliloquises  :  "At  any  rate,  I  will  have  a  name,  a 
lawful,  rightful  name.  Mrs.  Yerneer  will  surely  be  better 
than  Lila  Nothing.  Being  mistress  over  his  elegant  home  is 
better  than  remaining  in  one  where  I  am  not  wanted."  But 
with  a  visible  shudder  she  thinks  of  the  old  man,  and  knows 
she  would  perjure  herself  in  the  sight  of  God  at  His  altar, 
by  promising  what  she  could  not  and  would  not  perform. 
One  hope  urged  her  on.    He  was  on  old  man,  and  might 


Lilas  Secret. 


87 


not  live  long,  and,  in  that  possibility,  she  thinks  how  nice  it 
would  be  for  her  to  be  left  a  young,  beautiful  widow,  with 
a  legal  name  and  home,  independent  of  her  present  be- 
grudged one.  "  None  of  them  want  nor  care  for  me  here, 
except  Lottie.  She  is  kind,  gentle,  loving,  and  yet  how  I 
hate  her,"  with  a  fierce  glare  of  the  eyes  and  stamp  of  the 
small,  pretty  foot.  "Yes,  I  hate  her,"  she  cried  out,  as  if  to 
convince  herself  of  the  fact.  "Are  not  all  his  thoughts  and 
looks  for  her  ?  Does  he  not  like  and  treat  her  a  thousand 
times  better  than  poor  me,  who  only  receives  his  cast-off 
attentions  and  pitying  courtesy  \  And  yet,  O  how  madly, 
passionately  do  I  love  him!  Yea,  love  him  to  despera- 
tion ! "  A  burning  blush  mantled  the  face  of  the  girl,  as 
with  shame  she  confessed  to  herself  this  secret,  burning, 
yet  hopeless  love.  "  How  vain,  how  utterly  useless  it  is  in 
me  to  lavish  all  the  garnered  love  of  my  life  on  this  object  ? 
He  is  far,  far  out  of  my  reach  ;  and  yet  I  have  dared  to 
love  him,  and  love  him  with  such  an  intense,  ardent  fury, 
which  almost  frightens  my  own  heart." 

And  thus  the  girl  talks  and  communes  with  herself,  sit- 
ting there  alone,  quivering  and  weeping  over  her  miserable 
fate  and  keen  heart-aches,  this  last  agony — an  unrequited 
love — the  keenest,  bitterest  of  them  all. 

Suddenly  she  started  up,  a  deep,  burning  blush  over- 
spreading the  white,  pained  face.  Up  through  the  open 
window  a  voice,  sweet  and  musical  to  her  ears,  had  come, 
with  the  words :  "  Here  I  am,  Howard.  Come,  it  is  get- 
ting late." 

Stealthily  she  creeps  to  the  window,  and  drawing  the  cur- 
tains together,  she  peers  down  on  the  street  with  hungry, 
eager  eyes,  in  search  of  the  object  that  had  caused  such  in- 
terest and  confusion.  Louis  Montaine  had  rode  up  to  the 
gate  in  an  open  buggy,  and  with  careless  grace  and  spring 
laziness,  was  leaning  on  the  vacant  seat  beside  him.  Just  from 
the  bath,  and  with  the  usual  careful,  quiet  toilet,  which  char- 
acterized him  ever,  he  looked  fresh,  cool,  handsome  and  fas- 
cinating. His  straw  hat,  with  its  wide  band  of  crape,  was 
pushed  back  slightly,  displaying  the  handsome,  dark  hair, 


88 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


in  deep  contrast  to  the  white  forehead.  His  face  looked 
bright  and  full  of  its  handsome,  subtle  magnetism,  as  he 
reclined  there,  whistling  a  gay  tune  as  he  waited.  The 
girl,  with  bated  breath,  looked  down  upon  him,  her  heart 
throbbing  wildly,  tumultuously,  telling  plainly  the  secret 
hidden  there.  Presently  she  sees  her  brother  come  out  and 
spring  in  beside  him,  and  with  some  merry  remark,  and 
clear,  ringing  laughter,  the  two  friends  drove  off  together. 

Lila  watches  them  until  out  of  sight,  then  with  an  agi- 
tated step  paces  the  room,  her  hands  clasped  tightly  against 
her  heart,  as  if  to  still  its  painful,  fierce  throbs. 

"Oh!  how  wildly,  yet  how  hopelessly  I  love  him,"  she 
wailed,  throwing  herself  in  utter  exhaustion  on  the  bed, 
her  soul  despairing,  her  body  weak  an  d  sick  from  the  vio- 
lence of  her  emotions. 

And,  alas,  it  was  too  true !  From  the  first  meeting  with 
Louis  Montaine,  a  few  months  previous,  the  first  ray  of  love 
and  warmth  had  touched  the  ice-bound  heart,  and  without 
thinking,  without  considering  the  end,  it  had  melted  and 
glowed,  and  now  burned  with  a  fervent,  passionate  love  for 
this  handsome  young  stranger.  Hopeless,  utterly  vain,  she 
knew  this  love  to  be  ;  but  there  was  no  resisting  the  strange, 
powerful  magnetism  his  presence  exerted  over  her  being, 
and  she  thought  this  subtle  passion  was  the  first  experience 
of  that  mystic,  tyrannical,  yet  sweet  slavery — love. 

She  knew  he  was  the  affianced  husband  of  another,  for 
he  frequently  would  speak  of  his  beautiful  absent  betrothed, 
and  would  laughingly  tell  her  that  her  presence  was  a  real 
safe-guard  to  him,  for  that  he  could  not,  if  he  would,  forget 
his  absent  love  when  she  was  near,  owing  to  their  great 
resemblance. 

Often  she  had  seen  him  leave  the  seemingly  bewitching 
society  of  Charlotte,  and,  with  a  remorseful  look,  seat  him- 
self by  her  side,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "It  will  not  do,  eh, 
cousin  'Rene  ?"  as  he  often  jokingly  styled  her.  "She  will 
make  me  forget  myself,  and  my — but  never  mind,  you  un- 
derstand me." 

But,  in  trying  to  save  himself,  did  Louis  Montaine  never 


Lila's  Secret. 


89 


think  that  the  shy,  beautiful  Lila  had  a  heart,  a  young, 
hungry,  warm,  living,  susceptible  heart  ?  Or  did  he,  like 
others,  think  that  she  was  cold,  passionless,  a  stone  within 
her,  instead  of  a  heart  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  thus  proof 
against  his  sweet,  fascinating,  magnetic  influence  ?  It  is 
certain  that  he  never  tried  to  gain  her  love ;  but  simply 
never  gave  such  a  possibility  a  thought  of  her  falling  a 
victim  to  his  charming,  winning  society.  They  were 
thrown  much  together;  he  had  become  very  intimate  with 
and  was  a  staunch  friend  of  her  adopted  brother.  Every 
day  it  seemed  he  had  a  call  in  at  her  house.  Every 
evening  he  would  drop  in  for  a  few  minutes,  full  of  fun 
and  chat ;  often  the  few  minutes  would  lengthen  into  hours, 
and  still  he  would  linger,  frequently  staying  to  tea,  and  as 
often  coming  home  with  Arthur  to  dine.  His  bright, 
handsome  face,  low,  sweet  voice,  his  merry,  musical  and 
frequent  laugh,  his  kindly,  gentle  and  somewhat  familiar 
behavior  to  herself,  was  too  much  for  the  girl's  lonely  heart 
to  withstand,  and,  unthinkingly,  she  opened  the  door  of  her 
hitherto  sealed  heart,  and  lavishly  bestowed  all  of  its  love 
where  it  was  not  wanted. 

And  was  Louis  Montaine  to  be  blamed  %  He  was 
thrown  in  the  girl's  society  by  circumstances,  not  inclina- 
tion. Though  not  fancying  her  shy,  reticent  nature,  he 
felt  a  sort  of  curious  interest  in  her.  She  was  a  perpetual 
worry  and  enigma  to  him,  at  times  reminding  him  of  his 
mother's  portrait,  and  then  in  quite  a  contrary  resem- 
blance looking  the  very  counterpart  of  his  cousin  'Rene. 
He  would  find  himself  thinking  of  the  girl,  studying  her 
face,  and  wondering  about  this  strange  but  striking  two- 
fold likeness ;  but  if  there  was  an  emotion  awakened  in  his 
heart  for  her,  it  was  a  feeling  of  dislike,  an  unaccountable 
sensation  of  loathing. 

She  so  often  looked  sad,  lonely  and  neglected,  that  his 
generous  nature  was  touched  with  pity  for  her,  and  feel- 
ing thus  he  would  devote  himself  to  the  task  of  cheering 
her  up,  and  in  which  he  would  very  soon  succeed  ;  for  af- 
ter a  few  minutes  of  his  genial,  winning  society,  her  eye 


90 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life, 


would  light,  her  face  would  assume  a  pleased,  interested 
expression,  and  her  manner  an  undue  fervency  and  eager- 
ness. And  yet  Louis  Montaine  never  divined  her  hope- 
less love,  never  gave  it  a  thought  that  his  kindly  inten- 
tion was  cruelty,  that  his  forced  attention  was  but  adding 
fuel  to  flames  that  should  have  been  quenched  and  sutT- 
dued  instead.  "She  is  a  strange  girl."  he  would  think,  when 
freed  from  her  presence,  shaking  off  an  uncomfortable 
feeling  of  aversion. 

And  with  her  £reat.  all-consuming  love  and  adoration 
for  him,  Lila's  jealousy  awoke  to  as  great  a  phrensy.  Every 
word,  look,  or  action  that  was  bestowed  upon  her  adopted 
sister  from  Louis  Montaine.  was  noted  and  marked  down 
against  the  sweet,  innocent  girl,  and  as  with  keen  pain 
and  rankling  jealousy,  Lila  saw  and  felt  that  Charlotte  was 
liked,  her  society  preferred  before  hers,  she  hated  the 
sweet,  young  sister,  who  had  ever  shown  her  kindness,  love 
and  sympathy;  hated  her  as  fervently  as  she  loved  Lonis 
Montaine. 

And  this  was  the  secret  motive,  the  chief  reason  which 
made  her  heart  so  to  rebel  against  an  acceptance  of  her  old 
but  ardent  suitor. 

f,Oh  !  my  God,  how  handsome  he  is  :  how  madly  my 
heart  loves  him."  And  again  Lila  rises  and  paces  the  floor 
in  a  phrenzy  of  agony  and  despair.  k,And  it  is  all  useless, 
worse  than  vain,"  she  continues,  in  a  calmer,  more  rational 
manner.  "He  is  engaged  to  another,  and  if  he  was  not,  he 
would  not  deign  to  marry  a  nameless  pauper  like  me.  I 
must  put  a  stop  to  all  this  madness,  this  folly  ;  must  crush 
back  the  heart  that  is  wasting  its  strength  in  this  glowing, 
burning  flame.  Crush  it  back  to  its  former  dull,  apathetic 
misery  and  gloom.  Oh  !  my  God,  why  was  I  made  to  suf- 
fer thus  :  is  it  to  pay  the  penalty  of  my  parents'  sins  ?  My 
lot  was  ever  hard,  but  now  life,  happiness,  Elysium,  was 
shown  me  but  to  be  snatched  away  by  the  stern  hand  of 
reality,  making  my  misery  keener  by  knowing  what  anoth- 
er will  enjoy,  but  which  is  denied  to  me.  And  my  parents 
have  done  this." 


Lilas  Secret. 


9i 


Again  she  sobs  wildly,  throwing  herself  prostrate  on  the 
bed,  her  heart  well-nigh  breaking  with  its  baffled  love  and 
poignant  misery. 

This  phrensy  passing  off,  she  grew  quieter,  her  thoughts 
becoming  more  settled,  and  rising  from  the  bed  she  took  a 
seat,  and  this  time  looked  her  situation  in  the  face.  She 
thought  of  the  life  before  her  ;  knew  if  she  refused  to  mar- 
ry Mr.  Yerneer  she  would  bring  down  the  anger  and  dissat- 
isfaction of  certain  individuals  upon  her ;  she  had  been 
made  to  feel  that  she  was  a  usurper  in  that  house.  Aunt 
Lucy  had  told  her  that  they  were  very  poor,  and  could  not 
afford  to  maintain  her  much  longer  ;  that  she  must  get  mar- 
ried, and  she  knew  it  was  useless  for  her  to  try  and  main- 
tain herself. 

"  I  have  positively  no  hope  of  happiness  in  this  life,  as 
the  one  that  has  captured  my  love  can  never  be  aught  to 
me,  so  I  may  as  well  accept  Mr.  Yerneer.  Then  I  can  at 
least  have  a  home,  with  leisure  to  read,  sleep  and  dream, 
as  Aunt  Lucy  says  that  is  all  for  which  I  am  fit  for.  Yes, 
I  see  no  escape.  I  will  be  compelled  to  marry  this  old 
man  I  hate.  But  how  people  will  talk,  censure  and  won- 
der, and,  what  will  he  think  !"  This  with  a  flush  and  tre- 
mor. "And  yet,  how  can  he  care.  He  will  hear,  laugh 
merrily  over  the  joke,  shrug  his  shoulders,  then  think  noth- 
ing more.  It  will  concern  none,  and  I  may  as  well  bury  all 
hopes  of  happiness,  bury  this  hopeless  passion,  and  every 
vestige  of  goodness  that  is  in  me,  by  wedding  the  old  rich 
man,  and  change  the  despised  Lila  into  the  despised  Mrs. 
Yerneer  It  will  not  give  me  any  happiness,  but  it  will 
take  me  from  a  home  that  is  tired  of  me,  and  give  me  one 
that  I  can  call  my  own.  Yes,  I  will  do  as  they  wish.  I 
will  marry  Mr.  Yerneer  and  crush  down  this  mad3  wild 
love  for  him,  but  in  doing  so  I  will  make  another  taste  a 
drop  of  the  bitter  cup  which  I  must  drink  to  the  dregs. 
She  shall  not  be  happy,  while  I  am  so  miserable." 

With  a  hard  look  stealing  over  the  youthful  face,  and  a 
set,  determined  light  coming  to  the  large  blue  eyes,  she 
arose  from  her  seat,  and  going  into  the  prefety,  peaceful  little 


92 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


study,  took  her  place  before  the  desk,  and  angrily  pushing 
aside  Charlotte's  next  day's  composition,  which  she  had  left 
there  unfinished,  she  began  writing  hastily. 

An  hour  later  she  left  the  room  with  two  sealed  letters, 
and  a  few  minutes  after  they  were  safely  deposited  in  the 
post-office.  One  to  her  aged  lover  gracefully  accepting  his 
offer  of  marriage,  the  other  to  Irene  Burgoyne,  a  dishonor- 
able nameless  note,  warning  that  young  lady  against  her 
lover,  who  she  affirmed  was  flirting  desperately  with  a  very 
pretty,  charming  little  miss  of  sixteen. 

"  I  will  give  others  a  little  taste  of  my  Elysium,"  mutter- 
ed the  young  Nemesis,  as  she  left  her  epistolary  missives 
at  the  office,  and  wended  her  way  to  the  home  of  an  ac- 
quaintance to  spend  the  evening,  doubtless  to  put  off,  for  a 
short  time,  the  dreaded  interview  with  her  accepted  lover, 
and  avoid  meeting  Louis  Montaine,  who  she  knew  would 
be  sure  to  come  in  with  Arthur  to  spend  the  evening. 

Poor,  sold,  degraded,  sacrificed  girl,  the  victim  of  a  cruel 
fate !  Will  no  interposing  hand  be  stretched  forth  to  save 
thee  from  this  sin,  this  perjuring  of  your  soul  at  the  altar 
of  the  Great  Jehovah  ? 

"  Good  evening,  young  gentlemen,''  was  the  polite  saluta- 
tion of  Professor  Yerneer,  as  he  passed  Louis  Montaine 
and  Arthur  Howard  on  the  public  drive,  seated  in  a  stylish 
turnout. 

"  Quite  a  dashing  old  gentleman,"  laughed  Arthur,  as  he 
rode  on.  "  Do  you  know,  Montaine,  he  is  sixty-five  years 
old  V 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  I  had  no  idea  that  he  was  so  old.  He  is 
quite  a  fine  old  gentleman  and  appears  gracio.ilsly  polite  to 
you." 

"  You  know  the  reason  why?"  with  a  significant  laugh. 
"  He  wants  me  to  persuade  Lila  to  have  him." 

"  So  I  have  heard,  and  I  can  see  he  is  desperately  in  love 
with  Miss  Lila;  but  surely,  Arthur  you  would  not  allow 
such  a  sacrifice  on  the  part  of  your  adopted  sister  ?" 

With  a  laugh  the  answer  came :  "  Why,  of  course  I 


Lilas  Secret. 


93 


would.  I  rather  encourage  him  on,  for  I  do  not  see  that 
Lila  could  do  better.  He  is  rather  aged,  to  be  sure,  but 
that  is  a  very  trifling  objection.  All  Lila  wants  is  wealth, 
so  that  she  can  gratify  her  idle,  luxurious  habits.  She 
would  be  happier  as  an  old  man's  darling  than  a  young 
man's  slave.  Love  does  not  worry  her  much  ;  I  have  never 
seen  her  express  nor  show  any  sign  of  affection  toward  any  , 
one.  She  is  a  curious  sort  of  enigma,  and  I  want  to  see 
her  marry  and  awake  from  her  dreamy  lethargy." 

"But,  Howard,"  exclaimed  the  other  with  evident  disap- 
proval, "  you  might  really  give  her  a  better  chance.  She 
is  very  young  yet  and,  then,  such  a  beautiful  girl.  It  would 
be  a  wasted  life  and  sacrifice  of  her  happiness,  for  I  know 
she  does  not  love  Mr.  Yerneer. 

"  I  am  not  so  certain  of  that.  I  have  known  of  young 
girls  loving  old  husbands  very  dearly.  Why,  all  the  young 
ladies  like  that  old  music  master,  and  I  know  of  two  that 
would  jump  at  the  offer  he  has  made  to  Lila."  Then  more 
confidentially  he  added  :  "  You  see  Louis,  Lila  is  peculiarly 
situated  ;  her  parentage  is  unknown,  and  under  the  circum- 
stances it  is  rather  uncertain  of  her  ever  making  a  good 
match.  You  know  how  matters  stand  in  society.  I  have 
known  numbers  of  young  men  to  admire  Lila,  but  not  one 
of  them  pretends  to  go  any  farther,  by  becoming  her  suitor; 
and  then  other  men  that  are  not  of  good  standing,  and  not 
so  particular,  would  not  suit  Lila.  So,  under  the  circum- 
stances, taking  all  into  serious  consideration,  and  having  on- 
ly Lila's  welfare  at  heart,  I  do  urge  the  match.  Take  it 
home,  Louis.  I  bet  you  would  hesitate  in  making  a  name- 
less girl,  of  questionable  origin,  your  w  ife." 

Louis  Monfeine  shrugged  his  shoulders  undersf  andingly  ; 
and  with  a  serious  expression  on  his  face,  simply  replied : 
"  Yes  I  see  your  motive ;  but  it  is  a  great  pity  for  the  girl's 
sake  ;  but  then,  it  is  no  concern  of  mine.  I  presume  Miss 
Lila  will  know  how  to  manage  her  own  matrimonial  affairs." 


EASTER  EVENTS. 


Easter  morn,  the  birthday  of  our  eternal  life,  dawned  in 
a  perfect  panoply  of  spring  loveliness.  The  sky,  all  nature 
in  the  freshness  of  her  new,  becoming  attire,  the  soft,  swt,et 
atmosphere,  and  the  happy  smiling  church-goers,  made  up 
a  delightful  and  soul-entrancing  scene,  which  even  the  most 
skeptical  must  acknowledge  and  feel  to  be  right,  that  we 
should  celebrate  to  the  utmost  of  our  poor,  unworthy  ser- 
vice, this  greatest  of  days  that  has  ever  dawned  upon  this 
earth — the  anniversary  of  the  resurrection  morn.  Does 
not  the  heart  of  the  dullest  Christian  bound  and  throb  at 
its  glorious,  ecstatic  significance  ? 

To  the  credit  of  the  untiring,  devoted  and  loving  efforts 

of  the  willing  workers,  church  at  S—  looked 

gloriously  beautiful.  The  decorations  were  unique  and 
strictly  chaste,  all  composed  of  nature's  lavish  gifts.  Noth- 
ing gaudy,  nor  artificial,  broke  in  upon  the  rich,  yet  tasteful 
blending  and  appropriate  adorning  of  this  little  temple  of 
the  Father. 

The  unclouded  radiance  of  the  great  luminary  lit  up  the 
stained  windows  into  magnificent  richness,  tinting  into 
various  hues  the  interior  adornments,  seeming  to  color  the 
symbolic  flowers  with  a  deeper  hue,  and  contrasting  strik- 
ingly with  the  snowy  cloth  and  glittering  service  upon  the 
altar,  spread  on  the  inviting  feast  of  the  Lord's  supper. 

After  the  sweet,  thrilling  and  joyous  service  is  over  the 
short,  but  comprehensive,  confirmation  service  takes  place, 
a  dozen  or  more  young  people  receiving  the  solemn  rite, 
the  ratifying  of  their  baptismal  v  ows.  Among  whom  is 
Arthur  and  Charlotte  Howard,  and  Harry  Bentley  and  his 
sister  Florence.  The  Holy  Eucharist  is  celebrated,  and  the 
best  of  another  Easter  is  over.    And  not  in  vain  did  it 


Easter  Events. 


95 


dawn,  for  it  awakened  serious,  longing  desires  in  the  touch- 
ed hearts  of  many,  and  left  sweet,  happy  thoughts  in  the 
store-house  of  memory  of  others,  and  making  all  feel  that 
Christ  the  Lord  is  risen  indeed. 

Easter  Tuesday  dawned  as  brilliantly  as  had  Easter  Sun- 
day. It  was  Masie  Bentley's  wedding  day,  and  a  sort  of 
commotion  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole  community  ;  for 
both  her  and  Frederick  Waters  were  well  known  and  greatly 
beloved  by  all,  and  consequently  a  great  interest  and  pleas- 
ure was  manifested  by  the  many  who  anticipated  seeing 
them  married  that  evening  at  her  father's  parish  church, 
and  by  her  father's  divine  authority. 

All  day  they  had  been  busy  at  the  parsonage,  for  many 
friends  were  invited  to  the  marriage  feast ;  and,  with  her 
ever-ready  hand  of  assistance,  the  bride  elect  had  foregone 
custom,  and  helped  and  managed  through  the  forenoon 
and  even  a  portion  of  the  afternoon.  But  as  the  latter  be- 
gan to  wane  she  retired  to  her  chamber,  and  taking  her  ac- 
customed seat  of  daily  meditation,  gave  herself  up  for  a 
few  minutes  to  serious  reflection  on  the  step  she  was  about  to 
take.  Her  face  was  very  pale,  but  calm  and  happy  ;  while 
a  satisfied  expression  beamed  from  her  quiet,  dark  eyes  and 
hovered  around  her  mouth. 

Sitting  there  alone,  with  her  head  resting  on  her  hand, 
she  was  soon  absorbed  with  the  many  thoughts  crowding 
her  naturally  reflective  mind.  She  was  on  the  eve  of  leav- 
ing her  home.  A  dear  and  happy  home  it  had  ever  been 
to  her  and  her,  loving  and  beloved  brothers  and  sisters  ; 
leave  home,  dear  parents  and  all,  to  brighten  the  home  of 
another ;  and  would  this  union  bring  happiness  and  con- 
tent? Would  she  make  the  true,  good  wife  Frederick 
trusted  that  she  would  ?  Would  he  be  all  to  her  that  her 
losing,  warm  heart  craved  ? 

Then  the  uneasy  question  came ;  was  it  right  that  she 
should  be  willing,  even  eager,  to  leave  her  parents'  home 
for  that  of  her  husband's  ?  She  thought  of  her  delicate 
mother  with  a  large  family,  and  the  care  of  her  husband's 
many  parishioners  devolving  on  her;  "and,"  asked  the  girl 


96 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


mentally,  "how  can  she  spare  her  Masie  V  Florence  was 
young  and  absorbed  with  her  school  duties,  an  ardent  young 
lover,  and  required  care  and  attention,  instead  of  extending 
them  to  others.  Her  brother  Harry,  and  Louis  Montaine, 
how  many  and  frequent  were  there  calls  on  Masie  !  Then 
her  little  brother  and  sister,  full  of  their  childish  troubles 
and  wants.  How  many  times  did  papa  want  something  at- 
tended to  by  his  "right  hand  !''  And  her  quiet  mother's  gen- 
tle call,  how  often  did  it  fall  upon  her  patient,  willing  ear  t 
And  how,  thought  the  girl,  can  they  spare  Masie  ?  It  seemed 
to  Mary  Bentley,  ever  accustomed  to  self-sacrifice,  that  her 
father's  home  needed  her  longer.  But  then,  her  lover 
needed  her  too.  He  had  waited  long  and  patiently  to  claim 
his  bride,  and  how  could  she  put  him  off  yet  longer  ?  As 
time  went  by,  would  there  be  any  cessation  to  the  calls  and 
demands  upon  her  ?  Would  she  ever  be  able  to  say,  I  can 
now  be  spared.  "No,"  thought  the  pondering  mind,  "I  do 
not  think  it  right  that  I  should  sacrifice  my  happiness,  and 
that  of  Freddie's,  for  all  those  petty  wants."  And  consol- 
ing herself  thus,  her  thoughts  turned  more  directly  upon 
the  young  man  so  soon  to  become  her  husband.  Would  his 
tenderness  and  love  for  herself  ever  cool  or  turn  to  harsh- 
ness ?  Would  the  eye  that  beamed  upon  her  now  with  love, 
ever  give  her  the  glance  of  anger  and  disapprobation? 
Would  the  fond  words  and  gentle  caressing  touch,  that  al- 
ways greeted  her  now,  ever  be  anght  else  ? 

"Oh !  Frederick,  my  almost  husband,  will  you  ever  love 
me  as  now,  and  give  me  the  pleasant,  happy  home,  and  sat- 
isfied life  I  think  it  will  be  with  you,  my  full  heart's  love 
and  choice?"  was  the  cry  of  the  young  girl,  as  with  clasped 
hands  she  knelt,  and  with  earnest  heart  and  pleading  words, 
she  approached  her  Heavenly  Father,  to  implore  His  bles- 
sing and  sanction  upon  her  marriage  with  the  man  she  had 
loved  for  many  years.  And  as  she  prayed  in  faith,  her 
prayer  was  heard  and  registered  in  Heaven. 

An  hour  later  she  was  smiling  and  chatting  gaily  with  her 
bridesmaids,  who  were  brimful  of  fun  and  delight  as  they 
fluttered  about,  assisting  her  to  dress,  and  make  ready  for 
the  "sacrifice,"  as  they  laughingly  expressed  it. 


Easter  Events. 


97 


"Come,  Bridey,  I  want  to  practice  drawing  the  glove,  so 
that  I  can  do  it  gracefully  before  the  hundreds  of  eyes  that 
will  watch  me  to-night,"  said  Miss  Harriet  Waters,  who  was 
to  serve  as  first  bridesmaid. 

"Adjust  her  veil  and  wreath  more  perfectly,  Miss  Hallie, 
it  is  somewhat  awry,  and  hurry,  please,  for  I  want  you  to 
help  me  arrange  my  unruly  hair,  for  you  know  we  must 
look  as  attractive  as  the  bride  herself',"  put  in  Charlotte 
Howard,  who  was  bustling  around,  helping  others  and  neg- 
lecting herself. 

Florence  stood  at  the  mirror  curling  her  hair,  and  think- 
ing with  soft  blushes  of  the  blue  eyes  that  would  sparkle  on 
her  that  night  with  significant  glances,  and  laughed  some- 
what abstractedly  at  the  different  sallies  going  on ;  while 
Lila,  the  fourth  and  last  bridesmaid,  seemed  in  a  sort  of 
pleased  trance,  running  around,  and  with  her  tasteful  fin- 
gers assisting  in  the  bride's  toilet  wonderfully.  One  per- 
son in  the  world  she  liked,  and  this  was  Masie  Bentley. 

While  Miss  Waters  and  Charlotte  rattled  on,  Masie  smil- 
ingly enjoying  their  frolic  at  her  expense,  and  Florence 
putting  in  a  word  and  laugh  here  and  there,  she  was  still, 
but  full  of  busy,  strange  thoughts,  centering  and  dwelling 
with  a  secret  yet  painful  pleasure  on  her  partner  for  the 
evening.  Somehow,  through  Masie's  arrangements,  it  had 
fallen  to  her  lot  to  stand  with  Louis  Montaine,  Masie  laugh- 
ingly telling  her  that,  as  he  was  mortgaged  property,  it 
could  not  make  old  Mr.  Yerneer  jealous,  adding,  "You  know, 
Lila,  you  always  promised  to  stand  as  bridesmaid,  so  I  asked 
Louis  to  stand  with  you,  so  as  not  to  make  any  trouble,  for 
I  hear  both  Miss  Burgoyne  and  Mr.  Yerneer  are  very  jeal- 
ous." And  Lila,  never  questioning  whether  Louis  Montaine 
was  agreeable  to  this  state  of  affairs,  was  highly  pleased  and 
flattered  by  the  arrangement. 

The  passion  for  this  handsome  young  stranger,  smoulder- 
ing under  the  check  her  recent  engagement  had  put  upon 
it,  seemed  ready  to  burst  forth  in  renewed  flames,  and,  as  if 
in  defiance  of  her  better  judgment,  the  knowledge  of  the 
utter  uselessness  of  such  folly,  and  indifference  to  the  con- 


9s 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life 


sequences,  the  girl  allows  herself  to  think  wholly  of  her 
mad  love,  and  thus  fans  it  into  a  bright,  leaping  flame,  and' 
fervent  heat. 

Of  course  the  church  was  crowded,  and  all  on  the  qui-vive 
of  expectation  and  breathless  interest,  when  the  bridal  party 
entered  precisely  at  the  appointed  time. 

Louis  Montaine  looked  very  handsome  and  elegant,  his 
aristocratic  face  intensely  grave,  but  a  slightly  preceptible 
shrinking  away  from  the  lovely  blonde  leaning  on  his  arm, 
detracted  somewhat  from  his  characteristic  gracefulness. 

Walter  Hayne,  with  his  blonde  style  of  good  looks  and 
rather  foppish  attire,  was  smiling  and  satisfied,  while  the 
captivator  of  his  youthful  affections,  Lottie  Howard,  looked 
very  pretty  and  simple,  attired  in  soft,  fleecy  garments,  a 
wreath  of  white  flowers  upon  the  sunny  head,  a  string  of 
pearls  around  her  white,  plump  throat,  while  bracelets  of 
the  same  clasped  her  snowy,  well-rounded  arms,  and  in  her 
small,  neatly  gloved  hand  she  held  a  most  beautiful  bou- 
quet of  rare  flowerets.  The  wonted  smile  was  upon  the 
pure,  sweet  face ;  but  a  close  observer  would  perceive  that 
it  was  brought  there  more  by  the  force  of  her  will  than  in- 
clination, and  that  the  bonny  brown  eyes  were  restless  and 
dissatisfied.  Ah,  bright  creature  of  this  unhappy  sphere, 
so  constituted  for  happiness  and  joy,  what  is  it  that  disturbs 
you  on  this  festive  occasion  ?  Shall  I  whisper  it  ?  Ah,  no  ; 
I  must  forbear. 

Arthur  Howard  and  his  pretty,  shy  little  betrothed, 
Florence  Bentley,  looked  handsome  with  entire  satisfaction 
and  good  humor.  And  Miss  Hallie,  the  bridegroom's  only 
°ister,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  quiet  Harry  Bentley,  looked 
the  very  picture  of  smiling,  pleased  content. 

The  groom  was  not  considered  a  handsome  man,  but  ap- 
peared so  now,  from  the  happy,  proud  smile  that  irradiated 
his  countenance  and  beamed  from  the  light  blue  eye?  ;  and 
the  bride,  confidingly  leaning  on  hi*  strong  arm,  looked 
quite  pretty  and  very  sweet,  dressed  writh  the  same  simplic- 
ity that  ever  characterized  her  ,  a  plain  Swiss  muslin  dress, 
high  at  the  neck  and  long  sleeved  ;  a  white  rose  at  her 


Easter  Events. 


99 


throat,  while  the  long  tulle  veil  was  held  in  place  by  the 
traditional  wreath  of  orange  blossoms.  The  expression  of 
the  gentle  girl's  face  was  calm  and  happy,  her  manner  con- 
fiding, while  her  eyes  mirrored  the  inner  peace  and  content 
of  her  pure  soul.  No  excitement  nor  undue  emotion  dis- 
turbed her  quiet,  pleased  deportment,  and  as  to  the  many  eyes 
that  watched  her  as  she  walked  up  to  the  altar  to  give  her 
girlish  freedom  into  another's  keeping,  by  becoming  a  wife, 
they  must  have  felt  that  she  was  satisfied,  yea,  even  happy 
at  the  contemplated  bondage. 

The  father  and  minister  of  God,  meets  his  daughter,  the 
darling  of  his  fond  heart,  and  with  his  countenance  exhib- 
iting deep  emotion,  gives  her  into  another's  care,  puts  her 
under  another's  protection,  as,  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  he  pronounces  her  the  wife 
of  Frederick  Waters. 

On  their  way  back  from  the  church  to  the  parsonage 
Louis  Montaine  laughingly  remarked  to  his  companion,  as 
he  took  his  seat  by  her  6ide  in  the  carriage,  but  underlying 
the  laugh  there  was  scorn  in  the  voice  :    "I  presume,  Miss 

Lila,  the  next  exhibition  of  this  kind  at  Church,  will 

be  your  marriage  with  Professor  Yerneer,  and  please  allow 
me  now  to  offer  my  congratulations,  and  to  wish  you  all  hap- 
piness in  so  ludicrous  a  sacrifice  of  yourself." 

The  girl  was  stung  bitterly,  not  so  much  by  the  allusion 
to  her  seemingly  mercenary  acceptance  of  the  rather  aged 
professor,  as  by  the  covert  sneer  which  accompanied  the 
words.  Louis  Montaine  was  not  of  a  contemptuous  nature, 
and  was  not  addicted  to  scornful  remarks,  but  he  felt  a  deep 
contempt  and  loathing  for  this  girl,  who  he  thought  for 
mercenary  views  was  about  to  sacrifice  her  youth  and 
beauty  in  so  unnatural  a  manner.  And,  moreover,  he  was 
exceedingly  "put  out ;"  he  had  not  counted  on  standing 
as  groomsman  with  one  conventionally  made  objectionable 
in  society.  It  touched  his  aristocratic  pride  to  be  associated 
so  conspicuously  in  public  with  her.  In  plain  terms,  he 
did  not  like  it,  and  it  was  almost  too  much  for  his  gracious 
politeness  to  brook.    Unknown,  unsuspected  by  him,  she 


IOO 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


had  been  singled  out,  and  courtesy  to  Masie  forbade  him 
refusing  her  request,  and,  unquestionably,  it  was  this  re- 
pugnance, more  than  any  lively  interest  he  felt  in  Lila's  re- 
lations to  Mr.  Yerneer,  that  had  actuated  the  sneering  tone 
he  had  used  as  a  vent  to  his  ill  humor.  He  had  hardly  in- 
tended to  wound  the  girl,  as  he  had  done,  and  instantly  felt 
sorry  as  her  reply  in  a  low,  pained  tone  came  : 

"So,  Mr.  Montaine,  I  do  not  think  so,  for  I  know  of 
several  marriages  that  will  occur  very  soon,  and  mine  is  in- 
definite as  yet.  You  can,  of  course,  wish  me  happiness, 
and  I  thank  you  for  your  congratulations ;  but  I  do  not 
look  for  happiness  and  joy  in  my  contemplated  marriage 
with  Mr.  Yerneer." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  and  the  young  man  laughed  ;  then 
in  a  kinder  manner  he  continued  :  "  Excuse  the  freedom 
I  assume,  Miss  Lila,  but  why  do  you  intend  to  marry  Mr. 
Yerneer,  if  you  expect  no  joy  in  the  union  ? " 

"  Because  I  am  compelled  to  the  act,"  she  cried,  bitterly. 
"  You  condemn  and  scorn  me,  but  you  do  not  understand 
the  urgency  of  my  marriage  with  some  one.  By  this  mar- 
riage I  will  have  a  rightful  home  and  a  legal  name,  and 
I  must  be  satisfied  without  happiness." 

"I  cannot  agree  with  you,  Miss  Lila ;  you  are  too  morbid, 
and  only  think  you  are  compelled  to  this  sin.  If  you  do 
not  care  for  the  old  gentleman,  you  should  not  marry  him, 
but  have  a  little  more  patience.  You  are  young,  and  very 
pretty,  and  will  most  assuredly  have  a  better  chance  one  of 
these  days.  My  advice  has  not  been  solicited,  but  as  a 
friend  I  would  say  to  you,  that  you  had  better  consider 
this  matter,  and  save  yourself  before  it  iso  to  late.  I  do  not 
like  to  interfere  in  the  business  of  another ;  but  think  it 
my  duty  to  tell  you  this  much — Mr.  Yerneer  is  a  most 
passionate,  exacting  man  in  his  home.  I  have  frequently 
gone  there  in  company  with  his  grandson,  and  felt  very 
sorry  for  you,  when  I  heard  that  you  intended  to  marry 
such  a  hot-tempered,  almost  violent  old  gentleman.  He 
would,  no  doubt,  be  kinder  and  more  considerate  toward 
you  than  what  he  is  to  his  servants ;  but  Gus  Kendall  gives 


Easter  Events. 


IOI 


him  a  very  bad  character,  and  told  me  the  other  day,  in  the 
presence  of  your  brother,  that  you  were  running  into  a  hot- 
bed of  torture  and  misery  by  marrying  his  grandfather, 
and  it  is  my  opinion  that  Kendall  would  very  ably  assist 
himself  in  causing  the  torture  and  misery.  I  scorn  to  stoop 
thus,  in  meddling  with  the  affairs  of  others,  but  feel  sorry 
for  you,  that  you  should  run  yourself,  ignorantly  perhaps, 
into  such  discord  and  unhappiness,  so  I  thought  I  had  better 
let  you  understand  the  prose  part,  if  there  is  any  poetry 
and  romance  about  it."  And  as  they  had  now  arrived  at 
the  brilliantly  lighted  parsonage,  Lila  found  herself  in  the 
midst  of  the  joyous  bridal  party  before  she  had  had  time  to 
realize  what  she  had  heard. 

Once  during  the  evening,  as  her  old,  infatuated  lover  was 
bending  over  her  in  fond  attentions,  Lila  looked  aside  wea- 
rily. Oh !  it  was  so  hard  to  endure  his  privileged  atten- 
tions. As  she  did  so  she  caught  the  eye  of  Louis  Mon- 
taine  bent  upon  her  with  an  expression  ol  evident  contempt 
and  pity.  The  deep  dye  of  mingled  shame  and  chagrin 
rushed  to  her  pale  but  lovely  face,  and  with  a  slight  smile 
wreathing  his  lips  the  young  man  turned  away. 

Poor  Lila!  What  was  amusement  to  others,  was  a  keen 
pain  and  humiliation  to  her  sensitive  nature.  She  was  amid 
mirth,  happiness  and  peace,  but  her  heart,  hid  beneath  laces 
and  flowers,  throbbed  and  glowed  with  the  sickening  vibra- 
tions of  despair,  baffled  love,  and  the  keenest  pain. 

To  her  the  evening  dragged  wearily,  painfully  on,  seem- 
ing never  to  come  to  an  end ;  and  when  at  last  she  was 
permitted  to  retire  from  the  scene  of  festivity,  it  was  only 
to  toss  restlessly  upon  her  sleepless  couch,  with  a  heart 
heavy  with  anguish,  and  a  brain  reeling,  almost  lost,  beneath 
its  load  of  pain  and  confusion. 

"How  he  scorns  me,"  she  cried  in  a  burst  of  keen  pain, 
"and  shame,  shame  on  me  to  love  him  so  madly ;  how  I 
tremble,  thrill  with  exquisite  yet  painful  delight,  when  fie 
is  near,  speaks  to  me  in  that  low,  sweet  voice,  and  touches 
me.  Why,  my  God  !  should  I  love  him  so  passionately, 
when  he  only  despises,  yea,  abhors  me." 

7 


102 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"I  could  see  he  did  not  like  standing  with  rae  to-night ; 
how  he  frowned  and  flushed  when  offering  his  arm  to  con- 
duct me  out  to  the  carriage,  and  a  flush  of  shame  was  upon 
his  cheek  ;  and  he  seemed  to  shrink  away  from  me  as  we 
walked  up  the  aisle.  My  God  !  Why  should  I  be  thus  de- 
spised, when  it  is  no  fault  of  mine?  And  yet  hating  me  so,, 
why  should  he  interest  himself  in  my  welfare,  and  warn 
me  against  this  marriage  with  Mr.  Yerneer ;  what  is  it  to 
him  whom  I  marry  or  how  unhappy  I  am  ?  Why  does  he 
speak  so  gently,  so  low,  so  thrillingly  sweet,  when  it  sets  my 
heart  on  fire  ?  And  he  said  I  was  young  and  pretty,  and 
tolc.  me  to  wait  and  have  patience.    What  does  it  mean  ? 

"I  cannot,  dare  not,  marry  Mr.  Yerneer ;  I  must  heed  his 
warning ;  but  what  will  they  all  say,  how  can  I  escape  ? 
But  escape  I  must,  I  cannot  stand  the  censure  of  the  world 
and  his  scorn.  I  must  escape  this  terrible  doom  if  I  have 
to  run  away." 

Thus  her  thoughts  ran  riot  as  she  tossed  restlessly  upon 
her  pillow,  the  feeling  and  determination  to  escape  from 
this  hated  marriage  with  her  old  lover,  becoming  a  wild  de- 
sire, an  intense  longing,  as  the  weary  minutes  glided  on  ; 
and  the  only  avenue  of  escape  of  which  she  could  think 
was  to  run  away,  leave  her  adopted  home,  and  endeavor  to 
find  one  in  a  strange  place  where  she  was  not  known.  The 
intense  misery  of  her  over-wrought 'feelings  and  the  horror 
with  which  her  sensitive  heart  shrank  from  the  scorn  of  the 
man  she  so  madly  but  hopelessly  loved,  rose  paramount  to 
her  natural  timidity  and  every  other  consideration.  An  d 
starting  with  wild,  frightened  but  determined  eyes,  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"Yes,  I  will  run  away  !  I  do  not  care  what  becomes  of 
me.  I  will  not  stay  here  and  be  forced  into  this  marriage, 
and  to  be  scorned  by  him.  No,  no,  I  must  go  away.  I  will 
go  mad  if  I  stay  here  where  I  see  him  every  day.  He  shall 
not  give  me  that  smile  of  pitying  scorn  again.'' 

She  was  deathly  pale  and  very  nervous,  but  a  determined 
resolve  seemed  to  settle  over  every  feature,  and  a  wild  ex- 
citement giving  her  the  strength  and  courage  to  carry  it 


Easter  Events. 


103 


out.  Circumstances  seemed  to  favor  her  designs.  Char- 
lotte had  remained  with  Florence,  and  the  other  members  of 
the  family,  retiring  so  late,  would  doubtless  sleep  soundly; 
and,  perhaps,  the  most  powerful  incentive  to  her  mad  act 
was  the  knowledge  that  she  had  money  to  carry  it  through; 
money  that  was  intrusted  to  her  for  the  purchase  of  her 
wedding  outfit. 

"It  was  given  to  me,"  she  muttered,  as  she  folded  the 
crisp  bank  bills  into  her  wallet,  as  if  to  quiet  some  accusa- 
tion from  her  inner  monitor,  "and  it  does  not  matter  how  I 
spend  it  so  long  as  they  get  rid  of  me." 

Quietly,  but  unwaveringly,  she  went  about  her  hasty 
preparations,  gathering  together  her  few  jewels  and  other 
little  valuables,  and  with  one  dress,  a  change  of  underwear, 
and  a  few  other  smaller  articles  of  apparel,  she  packed  them 
into  a  dressing  case.  This  finished,  she  attired  herself  in  a 
dark  dress,  and  going  into  the  study  hastily  penned  a  few 
lines,  then  slipping  the  diamond-studded  betrothal-ring  from 
her  finger,  she  placed  it  and  the  note  together  on  the  bu- 
reau, where  it  would  be  easily  seen.  And  then  donning  a 
large,  gray  linen  sacque  and  common  hat,  she  tied  a  thick 
veil  around  her  face,  completely  hiding  her  fair  hair  and 
lovely  but  set,  pale  features. 

Noiselessly  she  glided  down  the  stairs,  and  as  noiselessly 
unlocked  the  outer  door,  and  stealthily  crept  from  the 
house.  Gaining  the  street  undetected,  she  swiftly  glided 
down  the  gloomy,  deserted  thoroughfare  leading  to  the  de- 
pot, and  arrived  just  in  time  to  obtain  a  passage  on  the 
down-going,  early  morning  train. 

Charlotte  accompanied  Florence  on  a  visit  to  the  new 
home  of  the  bride  that  morning,  and  it  was  near  dinner 
time  when  she  returned  home.  As  she  was  about  to  ascend 
the  stairs  to  her  chamber  to  take  off  her  hat  and  brush  her 
hair  preparatory  for  dinner,  her  mother  called  to  her,  ask- 
ing if  she  had  seen  Lila  that  morning,  adding  that  she  must 
have  gone  out  before  any  one  was  up  in  the  house,  that 
she  had  not  been  seen  since  the  night  before,  and  the  hall 
door  was  found  ajar  by  the  servant  quite  early. 


104 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


Charlotte  had  paused  while  her  mother  was  speaking,  and 
with  a  look  of  some  concern  retraced  her  steps,  answering  : 

"No,  mamma,  I  have  not  seen  her.  She  has  not  been  in 
to  Mrs.  Bentley's,  and  I  heard  Masie  express  some  surprise 
that  Lila  had  not  called  on  her  this  morning.  Why,  where 
could  she  have  gone  so  early  ?" 

"Now,  do  not  bother  any  more  about  Lila,  but  let  us  have 
dinner.  Do  you  not  know  that  she  is  always  at  some  new 
freak  or  other?  Go,  take  off  your  hat,  Lottie,  I  am  as 
hungry  as  a  bear,"  and  Arthur  Howard,  lounging  on  the 
sofa,  looked  impatient  and  as  hungry  as  he  had  expressed 
himself. 

"All  right,  brother  darling,  I  will  be  down  in  two  min- 
utes," and  laughingly  Charlotte  disappeared  up  the  stairs. 

Scarcely  had  the  promised  two  minutes  expired,  before 
she  was  down  again,  with  lips  white,  and  eyes  full  of  dread 
and  wonder,  as  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  tremulous  grief 
and  alarm  : 

"Mamma!  Arthur!  what  can  this  mean?"  and  she  held 
toward  her  brother  the  ring  and  note  which  Lila  had  left  to 
explain  her  rash  act  that  morning. 

Mechanically  Arthur  received  them  from  his  sister's 
trembling  fingers,  and  glancing  over  the  few,  hastily-written 
lines,  every  vestige  of  color  faded  from  his  handsome  face, 
and  with  a  look  of  nameless  fear,  he  explained  to  his  won- 
dering mother  and  aunt : 

'•'Why,  it  seems  that  Lila  has  run  away !  She  writes  in 
this  note : 

Deae  Lottie  : 

I  cannot,  dare  not  marry  Mr.  Yerneer.  I  love  another,  a  hopeless,  mad 
love.  I  have  taken  the  money  Aunt  Lucy  gave  me  for  my  bridal  outfit, 
and  gone  away  forever.  Xone  of  you  will  ever  see  me  again,  so  do  not  try 
to  find  me,  for  no  power  under  Heaven  could  ever  induce  me  to  darken 
the  door  of  my  former  home  again.  I  repeat,  dare  not  try  to  find  me,  for 
old  Verneer  will  come  after  me  and  still  continue  his  hateful  persecution, 
which  has  nearly  killed  me  for  the  past  year.  Give  him  his  ring  back,  and 
tell  him  to  find  another  bride,  for  he  will  never  get  Lila.  Again  I  say,  try 
not  to  find  me,  but  let  me  have  peace  and  security  in  my  exile,  for  I  will 
thrust  a  dagger  through  my  heart  before  I  would  come  back  to  a  home  that 
has  given  me  shelter,  but  nothing  more.  With  love  to  you,  darling  little 
sister,  and  hate,  ardent  hate,  for  the  rest,  except  Masie  and  one  other  that 
is  nameless,  but  0,  God,  how  passionately  beloved, 

I  remain  despairingly,  Lila  R.  M. 


Easter  Events. 


Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  from  Heaven  the  effect  could 
scarcely  have  been  more  paralyzing  than  were  these  few  mad, 
despairing  lines  from  the  self-exiled  Lila.  With  looks  of 
deep  consternation  and  horror,  these  four  sat  for  several 
seconds,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  when  the  spell  was 
broken  by  Charlotte  who,  bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears, 
cried,  "  Poor,  dear  Lila,  what  has  she  done,  where  has  she 
gone !  Oh  !  Arthur,  cannot  we  find  her,  and  I  will  get  her 
to  come  back  ?  Lila,  Lila,  my  poor,  persecuted,  darling  sis- 
ter, where  have  you  gone  ?" 

Mrs.  Howard,  with  her  frail  mind  and  weakened  nerves, 
could  not  stand  the  shock,  and  went  into  a  terrible  fit  of 
nervous  hysterics,  and  had  to  be  carried  to  her  chamber 
with  the  united  efforts  of  the  conscience  stricken  Miss  Gra- 
ham and  Arthur  Howard,  and  Charlotte  left  crying  and 
sobbing  over  the  fearful  calamity,  could  not  be  consoled  by 
the  old  and  now  remorseful  Chloe. 

It  is  useless  to  dwell  on  the  sad,  anxious,  remorseful  days 
and  nights  that  followed  the  despairing  Lila's  flight.  Not- 
withstanding her  words  of  warning,  every  effort  was  made 
to  find  the  whereabouts  of  the  missing  girl,  without  avail. 
Not  the  slightest  clue  could  be  gleaned  from  the  most  rigid 
\  search  and  inquiries.  Old  Mr.  Yerneer  was  wild  with  ex- 
citement and  grief  over  the  loss  of  the  beautiful  girl,  who 
had  captured  the  heart  of  his  second  childhood,  and  tried 
every  possible  mode  to  find  her  place  of  refuge.  Arthur, 
seeing  the  fatal  termination  of  his  part,  in  persuading  his 
lovely  adopted  sister  to  accept  the  old  man,  who  he  must 
have  known  she  did  not  love,  felt  miserably  guilty  and 
troubled.  He  realized,  more  fully  perhaps  than  the  others 
and  the  runaway  girl  herself,  what  a  daring  step  she  had 
taken.  Poor,  without  friends  and  experience,  in  a  strange 
place,  and  so  very  lovely  and  frail,  her  danger  would  be 
great,  and  he  tried  more  earnestly,  more  devotedly,  than 
all  to  find  out  where  she  had  gone,  but  to  no  avail.  Char- 
lotte was  inconsolable,  and  Miss  Graham,  busy,  quick  tem- 
pered, hasty  tongued,  but  a  really  kind  hearted,  well  mean- 
ing lady,  who  had  always  found  something  faulty  in  the 


1*6  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

sad,  dreamy,  Lila.  thought  ever  of  the  last* girl  with  regret 
and  deep  remorse,  urging  the  nephew  on  in  his  seemingly 
fruitless  researches. 

Mrs.  Howard  fretted  and  worried  for  a  time  about  her 
missing  child,  but  it  soon  lost  its  power  on  her  weak  mind, 
and  she  soon  grew  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  And 
another  quietly,  secretly,  but  perseveringly  was  ever  on  the 
qui  vive  to  discover  the  unhappy  Lila's  retreat. 

Louis  MoDtaine  had  heard,  with  a  sudden  pallor  and  con- 
scious guilt,  of  the  girl's  flight,  and  felt  intuitively  that  his 
words  of  scorn  and  warning  had  driven  the  unfortunate  girl 
from  her  home  as  a  means  of  escape  from  the  hated 
marriage.  And  with  contrition  for  his  interference 
in  the  matter,  he  used  every  known  available  means  to 
search  out  her  whereabouts,  such  as  guarded  "personals'' 
in  all  the  leading  papers  :  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  employ 
the  secret  services  of  a  well  known  and  successful  detective, 
but  with  the  same  unsuccessful  result  No  tidings  could 
be  found  of  the  missing  Lila.  And  so,  day  by  day  glided  on, 
lengthening  into  weeks ;  and  yet  not  the  slightest  cine 
could  be  discovered  of  the  self-exiled  girL  And  thus  time 
went  on,  sad.  anxious  hearts  besting  for  the  morbidly  sa: 
girl,  who  had  felt  that  no  one  cared  for  her ;  but  all  their 
efforts  proving  unavailing  they  had  to  aeeept  the  alterna- 
tive and  leave  her,  as  she  had  wished,  to  her  self -imposed 
fate. 

And  as  the  hot,  sultry  June  days  came,  other  thoughts 
and  plans  detracted  somewhat  from  the  keen,  present  pain, 
and  Lila  was  seemingly  forgotten,  but  under  the  current  of 
the  every  day's  engrossing  studies,  pleasures,  and  bright  an- 
ticipations of  spending  the  approaching  vacation,  the 
thought  of  her  remained  like  a  troubled  memory,  haunting 
with  sadness  many  an  otherwise  unalloyed  enjoyment  of  the 
brother  and  sister.  And  so  it  stood.  Lila  was  left  :n  peace 
to  her  fate  and  became  something      tne  past. 


IRENE'S  JEALOUSY. 


The  bright  April  sun  shone  cheerily,  but  not  a  ray  was 
allowed  to  penetrate  into  the  handsome  boudoir  occupied 
by  Miss  Burgoyne  at  the  "  boarding  establishment"  of  Mrs. 
Henderson.  The  windows  are  closed,  and  not  a  waft  of 
the  soft  spring  breeze  permitted  to  stir  the  rich  lace  cur- 
tains, nor  throw  a  glint  of  the  brilliant  light  without  over 
the  handsome  furnishing  and  pretty  ornaments. 

The  young  lady  herself  reclines  in  an  attitude  of  graceful 
indolence  on  a  satin  lounge,  deeply  interested  over  the  pages 
of  a  thrilling  romance,  and  looked,  as  was  really  the  case, 
that  she  was  enjoying  life  as  she  had  desired,  with  time  to 
read,  think,  draw,  sing,  visit,  receive  callers,  and  to  prom- 
enade or  drive  out,  just  as  it  suited  her,  all  in  peace,  with 
no  disturbing  element  to  clash  or  interfere  with  any  of 
her  amusements. 

Her  father  was  absent,  writing  occasionally,  but  never 
failing  to  send  her  a  monthly  remittance  wherewith  to  de- 
fray her  expenses.  Her  selfish  nature,  largely  due  to  her 
injudicious  rearing,  was  perfectly  satisfied  that  her  little 
sister  was  removed  from  her  care,  and  the  others  at  a  fash- 
ionable boarding  school.  Had  she  not  spent  four  years  in 
academic  life  from  home,  in  a  foreign  land,  quite  satisfied  % 
And  why  should  not  they  do  the  same  without  unhappi- 
ness  ? 

She  liked  her  present  home,  the  ladies  were  kind  and 
made  so  much  of  her,  indulging  her  every  caprice,  and  her 
vanity  was  gratified.  Her  suite  of  apartments  was  hand- 
some and  well  attended.  A  parlor  with  organ  and  piano, 
and  good  company,  was  at  her  disposal.  The  few  boarders 
suited  her  ideas  and  gave  a  home-like,  pleasant  feeling 
when  meeting,  and  a  family-like  familiarity  at  the  meals 


108  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

and,  on  the  whole,  Irene  Burgoyne  could  not  well  help 
being  satisfied.  And  yet  she  was  often  very  lonely  and 
unhappy.  The  star  of  her  life  was  absent  and  wrote  far 
too  seldom  to  satisfy  her  deep  longings  and  passionate  love, 
and,  as  the  time  sped  on,  it  seemed  to  increase  in  fervor  and 
devotion,  and  amid  all  her  pastimes  and  selfish  gratifica- 
tions this  one  dissatisfied  longing  for  his  presence,  society 
and  escort,  clouded  all  into  sadness  and  unrest.  Every  week 
she  wrote  him  a  long,  loving,  passionate  letter.  Seldom 
were  they  answered  satisfactorily ;  very  seldom  did  they 
breathe  the  spirit  of  love  and  endearing  devotion  which 
ever  characterized  hers.  Generally  a  short  epistle  would 
come  regularly  in  reply,  ending  always  with  an  apology 
for  their  briefness,  saying,  as  the  excuse,  that  he  was  study- 
ing hard  so  as  to  bring  her  a  good  report  in  the  summer. 
And  with  this  hope  she  lived,  to  have  him  with  her  for 
two  months  in  the  summer.  And  now,  as  the  warm  breath 
of  spring  fans  her  lovely  cheek,  how  delightedly  she  counts 
the  days  that  go  by,  each  one  bringing  that  happy  event 
nearer ! 

But  what  a  pity  that  our  happy  anticipations  are  so  often 
rudely  blasted  by  the  cold,  cruel  breath  of  disappointment ! 

She  is  very  and  unusually  lovely  this  bright  spring  day. 
A  snowy  robe  of  some  fleecy  drapery  about  her  tall,  queenly 
form,  her  fair,  abundant  hair  arranged  with  exquisite  taste, 
with  a  white  rose  just  peeping  slyly  out  from  the  delicate 
filagree  comb,  while  a  spray  of  purple  violets,  drooping 
sadly  from  amid  the  misty  lace  around  her  neck,  the  only 
ornaments  she  wears  except  the  one  diamond  betrothal  ring 
glittering  upon  her  finger. 

She  seems  to  be  reading  some  thrilling  tale,  for  her  eyes 
are  bright  and  luminous,  a  warm  flush  mantles  her  peachy 
cheek,  while  the  deeply  interesting  expression  pervading 
her  whole  face  brightens  it  into  rare  loveliness. 

Suddenly  her  riveted  attention  is  arrested  by  a  knock  at 
her  door  and,  with  a  disturbed  frown,  she  bade  the  person 
to  enter. 

"  Two  letters  for  Miss  Burgoyne,"  explained  the  servant, 
presenting  them  on  a  salver,  then  instantly  retiring. 


Irene  s  Jealousy. 


Quickly  the  book  is  thrown  aside  now,  and  with  flushed 
cheek  and  eager  hand  the  young  lady  carries  one  shyly  to 
her  lips,  murmuring  tenderly  : 

"  Now,  darling,  have  you  sent  me  any  thing  sweet  and 
fond  in  this,  something  to  fill  my  hungry  heart?" 

With  nervous  gladness  she  cut  the  seal,  and  her  eyes 
lighted  with  joy  as  she  noticed  that  it  was  unusually 
lengthy,  and  pressing  the  signature  to  her  lips  she  kissed  it 
passionately. 

No  great  satisfaction  was  expressed  on  her  countenance 
after  its  perusal,  and,  as  if  not  satisfied,  she  again  read  it 
verbatim.  Then,  laying  it  down,  she  mused  sadly,  a  dissat- 
isfied, pained  look  coming  over  her  beautiful  face.  "  He 
does  not  write  like  a  lover  should,  'Dear  'Rene,'  and 
'  Your  cousin  Louis,'  seem  so  cold  and  cousinly.  Nothing 
fonder  ?  Why  cannot  he  be  more  loving  and  tender,  and 
recognize  in  words  that  I  am  his  promised  wife,  and  not 
only  a  cousin  ?  Will  he  be  so  practical  and  unsentimental 
when  we  meet  as  he  sounds  in  his  letters  ?  Ah,  Louis,  my 
darling,  my  all,  you  do  not  know  how  my  heart  is  burning 
for  one  word  of  sweet  nonsense,  something  fonder  than 
'  Dear  'Rene.'  Not  even  '  my.'  Why  do  you  not  call  me 
'my  darling,'  'my dearest?'  some  fond,  endearing  epithet, 
to  show  me  that  I  am  dearer  than  a  cousin  ?  You  seem  to 
forget,  now  that  I  am  out  of  your  sight,  the  whispered, 
loving  words  and  pet  names  you  used  to  call  me  and 
which  were  so  sweet,  because  so  seldom,  and  uttered  in  that 
low,  dulcet  tone  which  was  so  sweet,  thrilling  my  whole 
being  with  the  purest  joy.  Oh!  Louis,  you  can  never 
know  howl  love  you,  my  absent  darling,  my  very  life ! 
Yes,  your  studies  are  paramount  now;  in  pursuing  them  to 
gratify  your  ambition  by  excelling  in  your  class,  you  forget 
the  lonely  heart  here  that  is  breaking  for  you  only." 

Laying  her  head  down  on  the  lounge  she  wept  bitterly 
for  a  few  minutes,  then,  her  cry  out,  she  grew  calmer,  ex- 
cusing him  on  the  pet  plea  that  he  was  a  man,  and  did  not 
like  to  write  sweet  nonsense. 

"  He  must  love  me  if  he  does  not  continue  to  tell  me  so," 


I  to 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


she  tnunnured,  and  taking  up  the  letter  to  fold  it,  and  per- 
haps to  peruse  it  again,  she  sees  and  suddenly  remembers  the 
other  letter,  unnoticed  until  now.  It  was  a  small,  tinted 
envelope  directed  to  her  in  a  lady's  delicate  chirography, 
and  bore  the  same  date  and  post- mark  as  the  one  she  had 
just  read  from  her  cousin.  Wondering,  and  full  of  curi- 
osity, she  broke  the  seal,  and  in  a  trance  of  horror  read  the 
few,  cruel  lines  it  contained  : 

''Miss  Bubgoyxe  :  Your  cousin,  and  supposed  lover,  is  shamefully 
disloyal  to  you.  being  quite  devoted  in  his  attentions  to  a  certain  very 
charming  little  girl  of  my  acquaintance.  And  they  are  exceedingly  lover- 
live  attentions,  too.  I  esteem  it  my  duty  to  inform  you  of  this~fact,  but 
for  good  reasons  withhold  my  name.  Yet.  nevertheless,  you  can  rely  on 
my  information  as  reliable.  *  Leaving  you  to  deal  wich  the  disloyal' Mr. 
•Montaine,  I  remain,  sorrowfully,  your  friend, 

Ax  Eye-Witness. 

Can  the  cold  medium  of  written  words  depict  the  poig- 
nant, scathing  bitterness  with  which  these  cruel  lines  fell 
upon  the  loving,  but  fearfully  jealous  heart  of  the  wretched 
Irene?  As  her  agonized  eyes  scanned  the  lines,  each  word 
seemed  to  burn  into  her  soul  with  fearful,  stunning  signifi- 
cance, and  it  would  have  been  kinder  had  an  assassin  stab- 
bed her  to  the  heart  than  this  cowardly,  dishonorable  stab, 
which  does  not  kill,  but  tortures,  wounds  and  insults;  this 
cruel,  malicious  stab  devised  by  the  jealous  Lila,  for  what  \ 
Just  simply  to  make  another  feel  her  own  woe. 

The  heart,  poised  on  a  pivot  ready  at  the  slightest  breath 
to  fall  either  way.  already  fearing,  almost  inclined  to  mis- 
trust her  lover's  fidelity,  fell  in  the  false  balance,  and  her 
heart  and  mind  blinded  by  a  bitter,  fully  aroused  jealousy, 
readily  believed  the  words  against  her  affianced  lover, 
Wich  her  face  pale,  even  livid,  her  eyes  wild,  one  hand 
clutching  the  fatal  letter,  while  with  the  other  she  seemed 
to  grasp  her  heart,  well  nigh  breaking  with  this  new  found 
torturing  agony,  the  poor,  anguished  girl,  the  victim  of  a 
base,  sinful  revenge,  looked  the  very  picture  of  a  wild  des- 
pair. Starting  up.  she  paced  the  room  in  violent  agitation, 
hissing  between  her  clenched  teeth.  4,Dare  he  do  this? 
Louis  ALontaine  false  already ;  has  it  come  to  this  so  soon  ? 


Irene's  "Jealousy. 


in 


Yes,  yes,"  she  cried  with  passionate  vehemence,  "I  thought 
something  was  wrong.  Intuitively  I  felt  that  he  was  tiring 
of  me,  that  he  was  false.  Should  I  not  have  known  before 
this  what  his  cold  letters  portended  ?  Where  is  the  lover 
in  this  one?"  grasping  it  up,  as  she  raved  in  the  delirium 
of  her  mad  jealousy,  and  tearing  it  into  fragments;  then, 
in  a  wild,  reckless  passion,  she  tore  the  ring  from  her  finger 
and  threw  it  from  her.  Not  satisfied  yet,  she  opened  a 
drawer  in  her  desk  and  tore  letter  after  letter  into  bits, 
scattering  the  pieces  right  and  left  over  the  carpet,  mutter- 
ing in  a  phrensy,  "I  want  nothing  of  his,  the  false,  cruel 
heart!  To  win  my  heart  from  me,  then  trample  it  beneath 
the  heel  of  his  foot !  In  a  few  months  to  forget  his  vows, 
his  honor,  his  faithful  promise  to  be  true,  just  for  the  sake 
of  some  pretty  face  !  Dare  he  treat  me  thus  \  Oh,  God  ! 
my  heart  will  break  !  Loui9,  Louis,  do  you  know  what  you 
are  doing  %  You  will  kill  me  !  "  and  with  a  wailing  sob, 
her  beautiful  face  distorted  by  the  agony  of  her  soul,  she 
threw  herself  exhausted  on  the  lounge. 

"  I  will  not  endure  this  tamely,"  she  burst  forth  again, 
starting  up  in  a  renewed  phrensy.  "  I  will  write  at  once 
and  throw  this  insulted,  outraged  love  back  in  his  teeth ; 
and  although  my  heart  may  break,  he  shall  not  know  that 
it  broke  and  shed  out  its  life  blood  for  him." 

Acting  on  the  mad  impulse  of  the  moment,  she  pro- 
cured writing  material  and  very  soon  a  letter,  breathing 
the  burning  hate  and  scorn  that  consumed  her  very  being, 
was  written,  severing  forever,  she  reiterated,  their  short- 
lived betrothal.  Then,  picking  up  the  ring  from  the  floor, 
she  carefully  folded  it  within  the  letter,  sealed  and  address- 
ed it,  and  ringing  the  summons  bell  dispatched  the  servant 
to  mail  it  immediately. 

"  Yes,  thus  I  clear  him,  the  false  traitor,"  she  raves,  her 
mad  phrensy  seemingly  at  its  height.  "  Let  him  pretend 
to  love  another  ;  let  him  wed  her  if  he  dares  !  But  ah ! 
Louis  Montaine,  it  will  be  a  terrible  day  that  you  bring  a 
bride  to  your  grand  house  as  its  mistress.  I  will  be  ready 
for  you.    The  moment  she  enters  it  a  happy  bride,  that 


112 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


moment  I  will  make  her  a  corpse  before  jour  eyes.  No 
other  shall  enjoy  your  love,  your  wealth  and  honors,  if 
Irene  Burgoyne  is  cheated  out  of  them.  Like  your  father, 
you  shall  be  widowed,  and  enjoy  or  rather  endure  its 
palatial  grandeur  alone.  Yes,  I  heard  it  whispered  once 
that  Horace  Burgoyne,  my  father,  was  the  despoiler  of  the 
happiness  of  that  home  in  days  gone  by ;  that  it  was  he 
who  had  widowed  the  proud  master,  and  you  had  better 
beware.  What  Horace  Burgoyne  did  once,  Irene  Bur- 
goyne will  do  again.  I  was  to  have  become  the  wife  and 
mistress  there ;  but,  as  this  flickering  ember  of  hope  is  put 
out  forever,  in  its  place  I  will  kindle  a  bright,  burning 
flame  of  revenge  and  hate,  and  sting  you  with  a  fiercer 
fury  than  with  what  you  are  stinging  me  now.'' 

Exhausted  nature  gave  way,  and  with  a  bitter  wail  of 
misery,  the  wretched  girl  sank  down,  weak,  trembling  and 
sick,  mentally  and  physically.  Presently  a  wave  of  regret 
seemed  to  surge  over  the  maddened,  troubled  sea,  and 
burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  she  sobbed  convulsively, 
crying  out  bitterly: 

Oh !  Louis,  Louis,  how  can  you  treat  me  so  cruelly, 
when  you  know  I  am  so  miserably  lonely,  with  no  one  to 
whom  I  could  fly  for  sympathy  and  love  ?  I  will  die  if  I 
must  lose  you,  my  love,  my  all ;  but  I  would  not  take  a 
divided  heart.  No,  take  it  back,  I  want  all,  every  throb, 
or  none.  But  you  shall  not  have  another — I  will  kill  her, 
then  die  myself." 

As  the  full  realization  of  what  she  had  done,  thrown 
away  the  only  hope  and  light  from  her  life,  dawned  with 
full  meaning  on  her  disturbed  mind,  she  moaned  and  wrung 
her  hands  in  an  utter,  miserable  despair.  But  nothing 
brought  balm  to  the  tortured  brain  and  smarting  heart. 
And,  if  Lila  Howard  could  have  witnessed  the  result  of  her 
thoughtless,  base,  and  cowardly  revenge,  and  still  desired  to 
see  another,  an  innocent,  unoffending  object  feel  something 
of  her  own  sufferings,  she  surely  would  have  been  more  than 
satisfied. 

Irene  Burgoyne's  nature  was  deeply  passionate.  Her 


Irene  s  Jealousy. 


"3 


loves,  hates  and  jealousies,  were  strong,  enduring  and  vio- 
lent in  the  extreme.  Louis  Montaine  had  won  the  former, 
and  would  scarcely  find  another  to  love  him  more  passion- 
ately, than  did  this  beautiful  creature,  yet  it  was  a  wild,  jeal- 
ous, impassioned  love  or  rather  worship  that  would  fail  to 
make  him  happy  ;  for  he  would  ever  have  to  watch  and  guard 
himself,  fearing  to  arouse  her  fierce  jealousy,  which  would, 
to  one  of  his  open,  trusting  and  genial  nature,  engender 
unhappiness  and  make  a  jarred,  discontented  home. 

Loving  her  handsome  young  cousin  so  intensely,  and 
looking  forward  with  the  greatest  eagerness  and  satisfaction 
to  becoming  his  wife,  and  mistress  of  his  boundless  wealth, 
she  was  ever  suspicious  and  fearful  that  somehow  she 
would  be  cheated  out  of  them.  Try  as  she  would,  she  could 
not  make  her  heart  trustful.  She  would  think  of  his  fasci- 
nating, graceful  and  sweetly  courteous  manners,  which  had 
so  readily  won  her  heart  and  held  it  captive.  His  natural 
fondness  for  feminine  society  rendered  him  easily  loved  by 
other  girls,  and  placed  him  in  great  temptation  of  forget- 
ting his  absent  love.  Such  thoughts  and  suspicions  were 
like  a  thorn,  ever  pricking  and  robbing  her  of  peace  and 
faith  in  her  absent  lover.  And  now,  as  a  direct  communi- 
cation had  come,  confirming  her  fears,  she  never  stopped  to 
consider  its  veracity ;  but  received  it  as  reliable  "informa- 
tion," and  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  describing  the  an- 
guish of  the  poor  girl. 

Poor  'Kene !  For  the  next  four  days  there  could  scarcely 
be  found  upon  the  broad  earth  a  more  thoroughly  wretched, 
despairing  and  unhappy  girl.  She  kept  to  her  bed,  refusing 
to  eat,  would  give  no  explanation  of  her  strange  conduct, 
refused  positively  to  see  a  physician,  and  denying  that  she 
was  sick.  Thoughts  of  ending  her  existence  flitted  slug- 
gishly through  her  mind,  but  with  a  shuddering  horror  she 
would  bury  her  face  in  the  pillow,  as  if  to  shut  out  some 
terrible  phantom. 

Added  to  her  misery,  as  each  day  went  by3  suspense  like 
a  torturing  brand  took  possession  of  her  mind.  No  news 
whatever  had  come  from  her  discarded  lover ;  and  she  would 


114 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


wonder,  and  dwell  upon  the  vexed  query,  what  he 
thought,  and  how  he  would  act.  Would  he  be  glad  to  get 
his  freedom,  and  turn  eagerly  to  his  new  love? 

Jealousy  is  again  stirred  mightily,  and  she  muses,  "  Yes, 
here  I  am  starving  myself  to  death,  the  very  thing  he  would 
want,  but  I  will  cheat  them  yet.  No  one  shall  enjoy  what 
I  lose,  no,  never.  I  will  crush  down  this  agony,  this  tor- 
turing misery,  and  live  to  revenge  my  wrongs,  then  die." 

With  this  determination  came  action.  Summoning  her 
maid,  she  was  soon  up  and  dressed  carefully  and  becomingly, 
her  fair,  abundant  hair  arranged  fastidiously,  and  with  her 
characteristic  fondness  for  floral  ornaments,  she  now  pinned 
a  rose  in  her  hair  and  a  spray  of  flowers  at  her  throat. 

She  ordered  breakfast  to  be  sent  up  and,  although  sick, 
weak,  almost  fainting  from  sheer  exhaustation,  and  oh  !  so 
sore  at  heart,  she  eat  of  it  quite  heartily,  drinking  two 
cups  of  fragrant  tea,  which  refreshed  and  invigorated  her 
wonderfully ;  after  which  she  petted  her  overjoyed  poodle, 
fed  her  canaries  and  talked  to  them,  as  was  her  wont,  try- 
ing thus  to  banish  thought  and  forget  her  trouble  ;  but  to 
no  avail.  A  hand  of  iron  seemed  to  press  the  fluttering, 
bruised  heart,  and  the  morning  dragged  wearily  on,  noth- 
ing interesting  her  or  easing  the  dull  pain  and  sickening  sen- 
sations of  suspense,  jealousy  and  regret,  which  mercilessly 
held  their  tyrannical  sway  over  her. 

Noon  came,  and  a  tempting  little  lunch  was  brought  to 
her,  but  she  sent  it  away  in  loathing,  feeling  now  yet  more 
despairing,  and  wishing  that  death,  or  some  kind  of  ob- 
livion, would  wrap  her  keenly  wrought  and  suffering  senses 
in  its  pall  of  forgetfulness. 

As  the  door  closed  upon  the  retiring  servant  it  was  al- 
most instantly  reopened,  and,  as  Irene  raised  her  eyes,  they 
fell  upon  the  tall  form  and  handsome  face  of  Louis  Mon- 
taine,  who  stood  just  within  it.  For  an  instant  or  more, 
surprise,  shame  and  joy  conflictingly  held  her  damb-found- 
ed  ;  then  with  a  burning  blush  mantling  the  fair,  pale 
face,  she  buried  it  in  her  hands,  a  convulsive  shudder  pass- 
ing through  her  frame. 


Irene  s  Jealousy. 


"5; 


He  was  deadly  pale ;  a  troubled  light  gleamed  from  the 
dark  gray  eyes,  that  regarded  the  girl  more  with  sorrow 
than  with  anger.  His  mouth  was  gravely  stern,  and  his 
voicfe  perceptibly  cold  and  reproachful  as  he  spoke  : 

"  I  received  your  letter,  Irene,  or  rather  a  sort  of  a  wild 
effusion,  and  after  reading  and  digesting  its  contents,  un- 
derstood that  you  proclaimed  our  engagement  at  an  end. 
I  did  not  come  down  to  protest  your  decree,  neither  to  de- 
ny or  acknowledge  the  charge  made  against  me.  Nor  did 
I  come  to  offer  one  word  in  self-justification.  If  yo^ 
choose  to  believe  the  word  of  a  cowardly  slanderer,  who 
dares  not  sign  his  or  her  name,  before  my  plighted  honor,  I 
shall  offer  no  defense,  ask  for  no  acquittal.  I  am  satisfied 
to  let  it  be  as  you  wish  it.  Every  letter  that  comes  from 
you,  grieves  and  insults  me  by  your  constant  mistrust  of 
my  loyalty.  If,  in  so  short  a  time,  you  find  so  much  fault 
in  me,  and  so  readily  believe  a  nameless  slanderer,  I  tremble 
to  think  what  our  married  life  promises  to  be.  In  a  word, 
if  you  are  tired  of  and  weary  of  waiting  on  me,  I  think 
it  best  to  sunder  ties  now  more  easily  severed  than — 

"  Yes,';  interrupted  the  girl,  rising  and  standing  proudly 
erect,  with  passionate  intensity  ringing  in  tone  and  gesture, 
while  it  dyed  the  pallid  cheeks  crimson  and  emitted  sparks 
of  fire  from  the  large,  bright  eyes,  "  I  knew  you  would  be 
willing,  yea,  eager  to  get  your  dismissal,  joyfully  accept 
your  freedom  ;  but,  Louis  Montaine,  you  wrong  me  shame- 
fully when  you  speak  as  you  did  just  now,  that  I  do  not 
care  for  you,  and  that  I  am  tired  of  waiting  on  you.  I 
would  wait  ten  years,  if  it  were  needful ;  but  I  cannot  endure 
that  you  should  flirt  and  pay  attention  to  other  girls.  It 
maddens  and  makes  me  beside  myself.  I  cannot  stand  it, 
and  if  you  loved  me,  you  would  not  tease  me  by  courting 
the  society  of  others,  or  perhaps  another  girl.  I  do  not 
listen  only  to  a  nameless  slanderer — I  know  you  too  well. 
How  often  did  you  tease  and  terrify  me  by  flirting  and 
waltzing  with  Lily  Hastings,  when  you  knew,  too,  that  I 
did  not  like  it.  I  never  treated  you  so,  nor  do  I  now. 
Since  you  left  me  1  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  other 


Ii6  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

gentlemen,  never  allowing  the  slightest  interest  nor  at- 
tention from  one,  not  even  your  dear  friend,  Gerrie  Hast- 
ings, I  have  been  loyal,  held  to  my  faithful  vows  truly. 
You  filled  my  whole  undivided  heart,  and  I  am  satisfied, 
and  I  expect  the  same  from  you.  You  do  not  love  me  if 
you  are  not  fully  satisfied  with  me,  without  running  into 
the  company  of  other  pretty  and  charming  girls,  and  rouse 
me  to  this  mad,  wild  jealousy." 

Louis  Montaine  gazed  wonderingly  upon  the  girl,  sur- 
prisingly lovely  in  her  wild  anger.  His  heart  throbbed 
v?ith  a  strange  passion  foreign  to  his  pure  nature,  admira- 
tion lurked  in  his  handsome  eyes,  and  although  her  words 
insulted  and  worried  him,  he  smiled,  and  when  he  spoke, 
the  reproach  was  gone,  and  instead  the  tone  was  low  and 
very  tender. 

"Because,  'Bene,  I  do  not  see  the  necessity  for  such 
rigid  seclusion  from  the  refining  influence  of  the  fair  sex. 
"Would  you  have  me  turn  a  barbarian,  and  associate  only 
with  rude  collegians  ?  I  cannot  understand  what  you  re- 
quire of  me.  Surely  I  can  recognize  and  enjoy,  to  a  cer- 
tain degree,  feminine  society  without  being  disloyal,  or 
injuring  your  claims  in  any  way  ?  You  know  I  do  not 
require  this  excessive  seclusion  of  you, 'Rene ;  I  trusted 
you  too  entirely  to  be  jealous.  It  is  folly  in  you  to  be  so 
strict.  But  I  did  not  come  to  discuss  all  this  nonsense  ;  I 
see  we  will  never  agree  on  the  subject.  But,  Irene,"  and 
the  troubled,  stern  look  came  into  the  face  again,  "  I  wish 
to  understand  about  the  ring  you  returned  to  me.  It  is 
not  the  one  I  gave  you  at  our  betrothal  ?  " 

"  ISTot  the  one  you  gave  me  ?  What  do  you  mean,  Louis  ?" 
Irene  gasped,  turning  very  pale,  her  eyes  full  of  terror  and 
questioning  inquiry. 

"  I  want  to  understand  what  you  mean,  'Rene,  by  sending 
back  to  me  a  trashy  paste  ring,  and  pretending  that  it  was 
the  costly  diamond  which  I  entrusted  to  your  care  %  What 
have  you  done  with  the  ring,  Irene  \  Surely,  you  can  give 
some  explanation  of  this  strange  proceeding." 

"  It  is  the  ring  you  gave  me,  Louis  ?    You  surely  do  not 


Irene  s  Jealousy. 


117 


know  what  you  are  saying  and  insinuating,  Louis  Montaine." 
And  the  girl  grew  yet  paler,  while  her  frame  shook  with  a 
sudden  fear. 

«  But  it  is  not,  if  you  please ;  I  know  the  ring  too  well 
to  be  thus  deceived,  and  have  another  trashy  gew-gaw 
palmed  off  on  me." 

"  I  thought  it  was  the  diamond  ring  you  gave  me,"  she 
said,  flushing  confusedly ;  "  and  in  God's  name,  Louis 
Montaine,  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  saying  that  it  is 
not  % "  • 
"  I  mean  simply  what  I  have  said  now  for  the  third  time. 
It  is  not  the  ring  which  I  gave  you  the  day  before  I  went 
away.  When  I  opened  your  letter  and  found,  as  I  then 
thought,  your  betrothal  ring  within,  I  was  not  a  little  sur- 
prised to  think  that  you  would  thus  carelessly  send  so  val- 
uable a  ring  through  the  mai?.  Slipping  it  on  my  finger,  I 
read  the  explanation  of  what  I  had  immediately  divined — 
that  you  had  broken,  on  some  pretext,  our  engagement. 
Looking  at  the  ring,  somehow  I  felt  that  there  was  some 
difference  in  the  ring,  which  I  held  and'the  one  I  had  given 
you.  What  prompted  the  idea,  or  made  me  examine  it,  I 
cannot  tell ;  but  examine  it  I  did ;  and  found  to  my  sur- 
prise and  dismay  that  you  had  only  pretended  to  send  back 
your  engagement  ring.  I  do  not  care  to  tell  you  how  I 
felt  just  then  ;  but  I  resolved  at  once  to  come  and  find  out 
what  it  meant.  After  my  mother's  marriage,  it  seems  that 
her  finger  grew  much  thinner,  and  both  her  engagement 
and  wedding  rings  were  too  large  for  her.  My  father  had 
them  altered,  and  as  the  diamond  was  of  such  great  value, 
and  fearing  that  it  might  get  lost  or  stolen,  he  conceived 
the  idea  to  have  a  secret  mark  to  distinguish  it  from  an- 
other ring  of  its  kind.  Where  the  bit  was  taken  out,  he 
had  it  joined  by  a  tiny,  impreceptible  spring-lock.  And 
again,  when  I  had  our  initials  engraved  on  it,  the  engraver 
carelessly  left  two  little  scratches  which,  strange  to  say,  I 
concluded  to  say  nothing  about,  but  leave  there  as  another 
mark.  But,  from  the  most  diligent  search,  I  could  find 
nothing  of  these  marks.     Of  course,  I  suspected  at  once 

8 


Ii8  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

that  there  was  something  wrong,  and  discovered  to  my 
horror  this  morning  from  a  reliable  source,  that  it  was  only 
a  cunning  imitation  of  a  real  diamond  ring,  its  worth  only 
a  few  dollars ;  whereas,  the  one  I  gave  you  in  trust  cost 
my  father  four  thousand  dollars.  The  middle  stone  was 
something  superb,  one  of  the  finest  in  the  country,  a  bril- 
iant,  beautiful  gem  of  the  purest  water.  I  know  the  ring 
so  well  from  childhood ;  I  have  admired  its  bright  glitter 
and  great  beauty,  and  ever  held  it  as  something  sacred,  for 
ft  had  belonged  to  my  worshipped  young  mother,  and  was 
for  my  future  bride.  When  I  gave  it  into  your  care, 
'Rene,  I  felt  that  it  would  have  been  held  as  sacred,  and  re- 
garded as  tenderly  and  sacredly  by  you  as  it  had  been  by 
me.  And  now  you  send  me  this  miserable  trinket,  and 
want  to  tell  me  that  it  is  the  costly  gem  which  I  gave  you. 
For  God's  sake,  'Rene,  cannot,  will  you  not,  explasfh  this 
mystery  ?    Where  is  the  ring  which  I  gave  you  I  " 

Irene  Burgoyne  stood  still,  the  pallor  of  death  over  her 
horrified  face,  listening  with  bated  breath  to  the  rapid  re- 
cital from  her  cousin ;  and  now,  when  the  last  question  of 
stern  entreaty  is  put  to  her,  she  exclaims  wildly,  a  sudden 
light  seeming  to  break  in  upon  her : 

u  My  God  !  have  I  been  so  terribly  deceived  !  Did  I  not 
know  that  it  was  a  bad  omen  ?  Louis,  I  was  robbed,  and 
papa  got  the  ring  I  sent  you  from  the  detective.  I 
thought  it  was  the  same  one  you  sent  me;  I  saw  no 
difference." 

"Robbed!"  echoed  the  young  man,  now  thoroughly  ex- 
cited and  angry.  a  How,  and  when  ?  And  how  is  it  that 
I  have  never  been  told  before  this  ?" 

The  nervously  excited  girl,  trembling  in  every  limb,  re- 
lated in  confused,  broken  sentences,  the  whole  affair ;  how 
it  had  been  the  indirect  cause  of  her  mother's  death, 
and  adding :  "  Papa  gave  me  the  ring  back,  and  I  thought 
it  was  all  right.  Oh !  Louis,  have  mercy  upon  me,  and  do 
not  tell  me  that  your  beautiful  and  valuable  ring  is  still  in 
.the  possession  of  that  base  robber  and  murderer." 

And  the  distressed  girl,  wringing  her  hands,  looked  upon 


Irene's  Jealousy. 


119 


her  cousin  appealingly,  who  was  pacing  the  room  nervously, 
pale  and  stern,  with  a  nameless  fear  and  suspicion  aroused 
in  his  agitated  mind,  and  his  voice  was  hoarse,  and  full  of 
a  bitter  reproach  as  he  replied  : 

"  Irene,  why  is  it,  that  you  kept  this  from  me,  when  it 
happened?  I  should  have  known  of  it  at  once;  now  I  fear 
it  is  too  late  to  find  what  I  would  not  have  lost  for  any  thing. 
Irene,  Irene,  why  did  you  keep  it  from  me  ?" 

"  Papa  told  me  not  to  worry  you  with  it ;  that  he  would 
attend  to  it  for  me,  and  when  he  brought  it  back  so  soon  T 
thought  it  was  all  right,  and  that  I  had  better  not  worry 
you  about  it,  but,  oh !  Louis,  I  never  once  suspected  that  I 
was  cheated,  deceived,  and  that  I  was  wearing  a  nasty,  com- 
mon gewgaw.  What  is  to  be  done  now,  and  papa  not  here 
either?" 

"  It  is  a  late  day  now  to  ask  what  is  to  be  done.  What  a 
fate  for  my  mother's  sacred  jewel  which  was  so  dear  to  me, 
but  who  would  think,  that  I  could  not  trust  it  with  the 
girl  whom  I  had  chosen  for  my  wife  ?" 

44 Oh!  Louis,  please  do  not  reproach  me  so  bitterly," 
and  the  voice  was  painfully  pleadyig.  "  Did  they  not  give 
me  chloroform  and  go  in  my  private  drawer,  and  rob  me 
when  I  was  as  good  as  dead  ?  But,  oh !  how  I  wish  that  I 
had  written  to  you  at  once,  and  let  you  know  all ;  but  I 
thought  that  I  could  trust  papa,  and  how  could  he  be  so 
deceived  ?" 

Louis  Montaine  laughed  bitterly,  an  angry  fiush  was  upon 
his  cheek,  while  an  angry  light  gleamed  from  his  deep,  in- 
tense eyes,  as  he  replied : 

"  Tour  father  was  not  deceived.  It  is  only  you  that  has 
been  so  cunningly  taken  in.  Mr.  Burgoyne,  unquestiona- 
bly, had  very  good  reasons  for  keeping  this  robbery  so  se- 
cret. Why  is  it  that  nothing  was  said  about  it  in  the  pub- 
lic print,  and  me,  so  vitally  interested  in  the  matter  and 
only  a  few  miles  away,  never  to  hear  a  breath  of  it  ?  Suffi- 
cient time  has  been  given  to  do  away  with  those  jewels,  but 
I  will  leave  no  stone  unturned,  but  what  I  shall  have  them 
back,  and  if  I  cannot  recover  them,  I  hold  your  father  re- 


120 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


sponsible,  Irene.  He  had  no  right  to  hare  any  thing  to  do> 
in  the  matter.  Just  to  think,  a  robbery  like  that  and  not  a 
word  in  the  papers  !  Not  the  least  intimation  of  it  anywhere, 
not  even  to  me.  Your  father  was  exceedingly  careful  to> 
keep  it  quiet,  and  succeeded  admirably." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Louis  Montaine,  by  your  insinua- 
tions "  asked  the  girl,  with  flashing  eyes  and  kindling  cheek. 

He  returned  her  haughty  look  unflinchingly,  and  replied  i 

"I  mean  just  what  I  say.  Your  father  had  no  right,  no 
authority  whatever,  to  keep  this  robbery  from  me,  and 
from  the  public.  It  looks  terribly  suspicious  against  him, 
but  he  will  find  out  his  mistake  before  long.  1  will  find  a 
detective  to  search  into  it,  although  it  has  gone  so  far.  Will 
you  please  to  give  me  your  father's  address?" 

Haughtily  the  girl  arose,  and  going  to  her  desk,  wrote 
with  trembling  fingers  the  desired  request,  and  laying  it 
upon  the  table  said,  in  a  voice  she  vainly  strove  to  make 
calm : 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand  your  insinuations,  Louis, 
but  know  that  you  are  very  harsh  and  cruel,  and  you  wrong 
papa  shamefully.  I  am  sure  that  he  acted  as  he  thought 
best,  and  like  me,  was  the  victim  of  a  terrible  deception. 
You  wound  and  insult  me  cruelly — " 

But  here  her  firmness  gave  way,  and  bursting  into  a  pas- 
sion of  hysterical  sobs,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  lounge, 
in  a  perfect  abandon  of  grief. 

Pale  and  deeply  agitated,  Louis  Montaine  looked  upon 
the  suffering  girl.  Pacing  the  floor  nervously,  her  deep, 
agonized  sobs  grated  painfully  upon  his  ears.  The  loss  of 
his  mother's  valued  jewels,  the  painful  suspicion  aroused  in 
his  mind,  the  imposition  attempted  upon  him,  and  the  memo- 
ry of  the  abusive  letter  rejecting  him  without  trial,  on  the 
verdict  of  a  contemptible  anonymous  writer,  still  galling 
and  keeping  his  better  nature  at  bay,  hardened,  his  heart, 
and  kept  back  the  rising  pity  and  love,  and  finally  he  said,, 
in  a  low,  agitated  tone  : 

"  Irene,  it  is  useless  for  me  to  remain  longer,  I  have  very 
little  time  to  stay  down,  and  much  to  attend  to  in  the  little 


Irene  s  'Jealousy. 


121 


while.  I  presume  you  feel  that  you  are  right  in  discarding 
me,  dissolving  our  engagement,  so  I  will  try  to  feel  satisfied, 
as  vou  will  it,  and  trust  that  you  will  find  another  to  suit 
you  much  better  than  cousin  Louis.  Will  you  shake  hands 
good-bye,  and  let  us  part  friends  ?" 

He  approached  the  still  weeping  girl  as  he  spoke,  and 
held  out  his  hand,  which  trembled  perceptibly  and  his  face 
was  very  pale  but  calm.  Irene  Burgoyne  lifted  her  tear- 
stained,  agonized  face  to  her  lover's  gaze,  and  holding  out 
her  hands,  cried  pleadingly : 

"  Oh  !  Louis,  my  love,,  my  very  life,  my  all,  forgive  and 
take  me  back  again.  I  know  that  I  have  wronged  you,  but 
I  was  mad  with  love,  blinded  by  jealousy,  and  did  not  know 
what  I  wrote.  If  you  leave  me,  Louis,  with  our  engage- 
ment broken,  I  shall  surely  die.  Please,  my  darling,  forgive 
me  this  once,  I  will  never  doubt  you  again." 

The  young  man  hesitated,  the  thought  of  his  father  wish- 
ing him  not  to  marry  his  cousin,  this  opportunity  to  quiet 
his  conscience  by  doing  his  parent's  will,  was  very  tempting. 
The  fetters  that  had  bound  him  had  not  proved  silken  ones. 
The  thoughts  of  freedom  stirred  his  heart  pleasantly,  and 
lie  could  not  hide  it  from  himself  that  he  would  like  to  be 
free  again  to  please  his  dear,  lost  father.  He  tried  to  think 
this  his. chief  motive,  but  a  sweet-faced,  bright  little  nymph 
now  came  vividly  before  him,  and  he  knew  his  heart's 
prompting  was  to  be  able  to  woo  and  win  this  sweet  child 
for  his  very  own,  and  he  knew  then  that  Irene's  jealousy 
was  not  groundless,  that  she  had  in  Lottie  Howard  a  for- 
midable rival. 

He  looked  upon  the  girl  before  him,  in  her  terrible,  over- 
whelming distress.  The  face  lovely,  even  in  its  wild  grief, 
the  tearful,  beautiful  eyes,  full  of  a  soft,  tender  entreaty 
and  love.  The  quivering,  grieved  mouth,  the  beseeching 
attitude,  and  humble,  craving  words  were  too  much  for  his 
generous  nature.  A  wave  of  pity  and  fiood  of  the  old 
passion  swept  over  his  soul.  Every  thing  was  forgotten  on 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  the  next  instant  he  had 
taken  the  weeping,  but  now  happy  girl  to  his  heart,  mur- 
iinuring  his  forgiveness  and  restored  love. 


122 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


That  afternoon  he  rode  out  in  a  stylish  phaeton  with  his 
betrothed.  Irene  Burgoyne,  radiantly  happy,  looked  superb- 
ly beautiful,  attired  in  white  mourning.  Her  fair  hair  fall- 
ing about  her  in  long  ringlets,  a  jaunty  little  bonnet  of  pure 
white  upon  her  head,  from  which  drooped  stylishly  a  snowy 
ostrich  plume. 

As  the  splendid  grays  pranced  gayly  through  the  princi- 
pal streets  and  around  the  charming,  crowded  Battery,  they 
were  the  observed  of  all  observers,  and  many  a  bow,  smile 
and  salute  the  young  heir  received  as  he  was  recognized  by 
old  friends  and  companions,  and  many  envious  eyes  frowned 
upon  the  fortunate  beauty  by  his  side,  as  she,  proudly 
conscious  of  her  envied  position,  gazed  with  haughty  smil- 
ing eyes  upon  the  world  around.  It  was  a  proud,  trium- 
phant afternoon  for  the  happy,  gratified  Irene ;  for  it  was 
the  first  time  since  their  betrothal  that  they  had  been  seen 
in  public  together.  And  she  enjoyed,  with  exquisite  de- 
light, the  thought  that  many  of  the  pretty,  smiling  belles 
that  nodded  stiffly  as  they  passed,  had  set  their  M  cap''  for  the 
handsome  son  of  the  millionaire,  but  had  lost,  while  she 
had  won. 

But,  although  enjoying  to  a  certain  extent  one  of  his 
favorite  pastimes,  seeing  many  familiar,  loved  objects  and 
dear  friends,  Louis  Montaine's  heart  was  sad,  it  recalled 
vividly  the  changed  position  in  which  he  stood.  The 
thought  of  his  beloved  father  was  painfully  present :  and, 
although  he  sat  beside  the  few  months  ago  idol  of  his 
young,  ardent  heart,  and  listened  to  her  low,  sweet  voice  as 
she  gaily  chatted,  and  was  the  recipient  of  the  rapturous 
glances  from  her  large,  love-lit  eyes,  he  knew  that  he  was 
not  happy  to  have  it  so,  and  felt,  with  a  guilty  pang  at  the 
thought,  that  he  would  a  great  deal  rather  have  his  freedom 
and  be  wandering,  even  then,  amid  some  rural,  romantic 
spot  at  S —  with  a  certain  very  sweet,  charming  little  miss 
of  sixteen  as  his  companion. 

That  night,  notwithstanding  the  earnest  solicitations  of 
Irene  to  stay  a  little  longer,  he  was  on  his  way  back  to  his 


Irene  s  Jealousy. 


123 


mountain  home,  and  to  the  scene  of  his  future  temptation 
and  sore  trial. 

Ensconcing  himself  as  comfortably  as  was  possible  on  a 
seat  in  the  cars  in  a  position  to  sleep,  if  he  could  woo  that 
desired  boon  to  his  excited,  contemplating  brain,  he  did  not 
at  first  notice  two  young  men  seated  in  front  of  him,  and 
who,  he  soon  discovered,  felt  more  inclined  to  talk  and 
laugh  than  to  sleep.  Presently  he  heard  the  name  of  Mon- 
taine  called,  and  although  he  still  sat  quiet  with  closed  eyes, 
he  became  a  deeply  interested  listener  to  what  followed. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  why,  I  thought  he  was  only  a  boy,"  one  said, 
in  evident  surprise  ;  the  other  answering : 

"  I  do  not  know,  never  thought  to  ask  his  age,  but  I  know 
he  is  still  at  College.  Nevertheless,  boy  or  man,  whichever 
he  is,  it  is  the  fact. 

"  Well,  she  is  a  deuced  pretty  girl,  but  as  poor  as  Job's 
.turkey.  Her  father  was  driven  from  C — in  utter  bank- 
ruptcy, and  is  dressing  and  keeping  her  up  in  style  from  the 
gaming  table.  They  are  both  looking  well  to  his  great 
wealth.  Do  you  know  that  he  was  heard  to  say,  in  the  pub- 
lic saloon  of  Hotel,  '  Oh !  I  will  be  all  right  by  and  by, 

when  'Rene  (that  is  her  name  you  know)  is  Mrs.  Montaine. 
I  will  lie  down  in  clover,  and  have  a  jolly  good  time  of  it.' 
And  it  is  the  fact,  that  he  has  contracted  large  debts,  to  be 
paid  out  of  this  expectant  son-in-law's  full  coffers.  He  is 
cutting  his  cards  well,  and  will  dupe  this  wealthy  young 
chap  capitally.    Ha,  ha,  ha." 

The  laugh  was  joined  in  with  heartily  by  the  other,  who 
rejoined : 

u  You  know  he  is  in  C —  now.  On  a  courting  tour  I 
guess,  for  I  heard  my  sister  say  that  they  were  out  riding 
this  afternoon  together,  and  she  was  laughing,  and  told  me 
I  ought  to  have  seen  Miss  Burgoyne,  how  proud  and  trium- 
phant she  looked,  and  said  sister :  1  It  was  real  amusing  to 
see  the  airs  she  put  on.  She  looked  as  though  she  imag- 
ined that  she  was  already  the  wealthy  and  envied  Mrs. 
Montaine.' " 

4'0h,  well,  he  will  have  a  lovely  wife,  and  what  more 


I2f 


T/u  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


does  he  need  ?  These  rich  voting  fellows  only  want  a 
stylish,  fashionable,  proud  creature  to  show  off  their  wealth 
and  grandeur  :  but  I  think  he  will  stoop  low  to  marry  the 
daughter  of  Horace  Burgoyne.  The  Montaines  are  a*  full- 
blooded,  aristocratic  family,  and  the  boy  is  of  good  stock, 
and  it  is  well  known  that  ^Lr.  Burgoyne  is  a  gambler  and 
a  licentious  sot;  but  I  gaese  son  is  not  so  high-strung 
as  what  his  father  was.  or  else  is  blindly  infatuated  with 
the  girl's  exquisite  beauty.  But  every  one  to  his  liking.  It 
is  none  of  my  business  and  does  not  concern  me  any.  I  do 
not  want  the  girl  and  cannot  get  a  red  of  the  boy's  glitter- 
ing chinks.*' 

"Kb,  I  think  not.'"  Here  a  laugh  was  indulged  in,  and 
then  another  subject  was  taken  up  and  discussed. 

Louis  Mbntaine  had  listened  in  a  sort  of  fascination. 
Both  of  the  young  men  were  strangers  to  him,  and  he 
knew  by  their  actions  that  he  was  unknown  to  them.  and. 
therefore,  their  conversation  could  hardly  have  been  in- 
tended for  his  ears.  The  heart  of  the  youth  was  chilled  : 
every  word  had  burned  into  his  soul  with  seering  intensity, 
and  painfully  conflicting  thoughts  surged  rapidly  through 
his  brain.  He  looked  narrowly  at  the  two  revealers,  but 
they  seemed  perfectly  unconcerned  at  his  near  proximity. 
Again  they  were  laughing  and  talking  over  some  love  af- 
fair, not  at  all  mindful  tha:  :      :  ;  were  in  ear-shot. 

The  rumbling  of  the  cars  drowned  much  of  their  converse, 
but  ever  and  anon  distinct  sentences  came  to  his  hearing, 
and  he  felt  certain  that  it  was  no  concerted  plan  to  let  him 
overhear,  what,  alas !  concerned  him  so  vitally.  They 
were  evidently  making  other  people's  business  and  secrets 
cheap  to  kill  the  monotony  of  the  slow  night's  traveling, 
not  caring  much  who  heard  so  long  as  they  were  amused. 

Louis  Montaine  sank  back  stung  to  the  quick.  This  was 
the  world's  talk  and  opinion  of  his  engagement  with  Irene 
Burgoyne.  He  would  disgrace  his  father's  proud  name — a 
name  which  he  had  desired  to  uphold  in  all  of  its  untarn- 
ished purity  and  pride.  UA  gambler's  daughter.'*  How  it 
grated  upon  his  ear  and  stung  his  heart.    And  was  this  his  % 


Irene  s  Jealousy. 


125 


father's  objection  to  his  marriage  with  'Rene?  He  had 
known  the  character  of  Horace  Burgoyne,  and  had  felt,  as 
he  had  told  his  son  more  than  once,  that  in  wedding  'Rene 
Burgoyne  he  would  disgrace  his  proud  name.  The  high 
Southern  spirit  is  touched  keenly,  the  warm  blood  aroused. 
Louis  Montaine  was  an  aristocrat  of  the  first  water.  Proud 
of  his  good  birth,  high  ancestral  ori  :in,  and  the  pure,  unadul- 
terated blue  blood  coursing  through  his  veins,  the  idea  of 
a  mesalliance  stung  the  old  family  pride,  and  in  bitterness  of 
self-reproach,  he  thought  of  his  willful  disobedience  against 
his  dear  father's  expressed  wishes  in  determining  to  marry 
his  beautiful  cousin,  the  daughter,  as  he  had  just  learned, 
of  an  objectionable  character.  Poor,  supported  from  the 
ill-gotten  gains  of  a  gambling  table,  and  he,  Louis  Mon- 
taine, was  to  stoop  and  pick  her  out  from  this  mire  of  dis- 
honor, and  raise  her  to  the  height  of  his  proud,  ancestral 
name.  And  to  shield  his  wife's  name  from  disgrace,  what 
would  he  not  have  to  do  for  the  father  !  Pay  his  many 
debts  and  let  him  lie  down  in  clover  and  have  the  nice  time 
which  he  anticipated  ?  With  shuddering  abhorrence  -the 
youth  thought  how  well  plans  were  being  laid  in  which  to 
entrap  him,  and  queried  mentally  :  "Could  the  daughter  be 
leagued  with  her  father  to  dupe  and  make  him  believe  that 
she  loved  him  so  passionately,  only  to  obtain  his  wealth 
and  shield  of  respectability  ?  He  knew  Irene  to  be  essen- 
tially selfish,  and  how  couid  she  love  him  so  ardently  and 
unselfishly,  as  he  had  been  made  to  believe  ?  And  I  do 
not  believe  I  love  her  as  a  man  should  love  his  wife.  And 
fool  that  I  was,  to  make  it  up  with  her  again,  when  she  cast 
me  off  with  abuse !  Yea,  fool  that  I  was  !  I  might  now  have 
been  free,  had  I  not  been  such  a  soft-hearted  fool.  Yea,  rid 
of  the  chains  that  are  so  irksome  to  me  now  ;  freed  from  the 
accusing  conscience  of  my  utter  disregard  to  my  dear  father's 
wishes.  Free  to  love  another,  and  here  I  am  returning,  fet- 
tered stronger  than  ever." 

Again  his  thoughts  turn  in  a  painful  reverie  upon  Horace 
Burgoyne,  his  father's  enemy.    The  suspicion  that  Irene's 
9  father  had  had  a  hand  in  the  robbery  of  her  jewels,  which 


126 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


had  been  aroused  in  his  mind  on  account  of  the  improba- 
ble fact  of  such  a  robbery  having  taken  place  and  kept 
so  quiet,  now  become  a  conviction.  He  was  poor,  a  bank- 
rupt ;  and  if  he  could  promise  to  pay  his  debts  from  his 
expectant  son-in-law's  full  coffers,  why  should  he  hesitate 
to  rob  the  jewels  given  by  that  personage  to  his  daughter  % 
Louis  Montaine  seemed  to  see  it  all  very  clearly  now. 
Horace  Burgoyne  was  a  reckless,  dissipated  man.  An 
enemy  and  injurer  of  his  beloved  parent,  and  contemplated 
to  hide  and  cover  up  his  misdeeds  under  the  tower  of  that 
parent's  wealth  and  honor  ;  "  and  1,  his  son  and  heir,  will 
pave  the  way ;  place  the  ladder  for  him  on  which  to  mount 
to  his  anticipated  height  of  ease  and  delight." 

"My  God ! "  groaned  the  youth,  in  bitterness  of  soul, 
"  why  did  I  not  see  and  know  all  this  before  ?  Why  did  I 
not  hear  this  accidental  conversation,  which  has  struck  the 
scales  from  my  eyes,  while  on  my  way  down  instead  of 
now  ?  " 

And  so  he  thought,  pondered  and  queried,  but  to  no 
avail";  he  could  come  to  no  decision  to  still  his  unquiet 
mind,  to  ease  his  painful,  throbbing  heart.  A  chaos  of  con- 
flicting thought  held  him  powerless  to  act  upon  any  thing 
definite.  One  thing  he  knew,  that  he  was  solemnly  en- 
gaged to  marry  his  cousin,  Irene  Burgoyne,  and  yet,  after 
learning  what  he  had,  how  could  he  dare  to  fulfil  his  vows  % 
vows  which,  if  kept,  would  disgrace  and  drag  his  proud 
old  name  to  dishonor,  and  gratify  his  father's  enemy  ! 


THE  EXILE. 


And  where  was  Lila  ?  What  course  had  she  pursued  to 
so  effectually  prevent  detection  ?  After  leaving  her  home 
that  morning,  just  as  the  gray,  struggling  dawn  was  break- 
ing into  the  light  of  a  brilliant  May  day,  she  hurriedly 
wended  her  way  through  the  quiet,  deserted  streets,  and 
with  a  thick  veil  drawn  closely  over  her  pale,  set  face,  and 
with  a  heart  beating  tumultuously,  she  approached  the 
depot  and  timidly  entered  the  reception  room.  Many  were 
already  there,  and  others  came  in  soon  after,  full  of  gay 
spirits  and  light,  free  laughter,  in  anticipation  of  returning 
home  to  loved  ones,  or  else  going  off  on  some  pleasure 
trip.  Fortunately,  or  rather  unfortunately,  they  were*  all 
strangers  to  the  trembling  girl  shrinking  away  in  a  corner 
of  the  room,  persons  just  passing  through  the  town  on 
their  way  to  other  destinations. 

Getting  a  gentleman  to  purchase  her  a  ticket  to  Charles- 
ton, Lila  takes  up  her  bundle  of  possessions,  and  fol- 
lowing the  crowd,  enters  the  cars,  and  is  soon  whirling 
away  from  the  protection  of  a  home,  the  care  of  friends, 
the  old  man  who  was  so  eager  to  claim  her  as  his  bride, 
and  from  thf  one  who  had  so  unconsciously  won  all  the 
love,  the  smothered,  smouldering,  but  intensly  passionate 
love  of  her  young  heart ;  whirling  away  to  a  strange  city, 
to  the  land  of  strangers.  Yenturing  thus  rashly  on  the 
cold  charities  of  a  world  of  which  she  knew  nothing  as 
yet. 

"  What  will  become  of  me?"  is  now  the  question  which 
agitates  her  mental  vision  as  she  is  borne  resistlessly  on — 
on  to  what?    A  life  of  tortured  misery  and  temptation,  or 
one  of  more  happiness  and  satisfaction  than  what  she  is 
•  living? 


128 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


At  the  arrival  of  the  train  at  C  ,  the  unprotected 

young  stranger  made  her  way  out  with  the  eager,  selfish 
crowd,  the  only  one  it  seemed  that  had  no  welcome,  no 
definite  place  to  which  to  go.  Carriages  and  hacks  drove 
rapidly  off  with  the  recent  arrivals,  and  before  Lila  fully 
determined  what  to  do  she  finds  herself  almost  alone  at  the 
deserted  depot.  Shelter,  and  a  bed  upon  which  to  rest  her 
weary,  aching  limbs  she  must  have,  and  as  she  is  deciding 
what  to  do,  a  driver  of  a  public  conveyance  approaches, 
politely  inquiring  if  she  wishes  his  services. 

"Yes,"  is  the  eager  reply;  "please  drive  me  to  a  private, 
select  boarding  house.'' 

"With  a  profound  bow,  Lila  is  handed  into  the  carriage, 
and  very  soon  is  left  standing  at  the  gate  of  a  very  elegant, 

stylish-looking  residence  on  street,  "  Mrs.  Select 

Boarding  House,  for  ladies  exclusively.'' 

Yery  soon  her  summons  is  answered  by  a  footman  in 
full  livery,  and  making  her  errand  known,  she  is  pompously 
shown  into  the  elegant  reception  room.  Weary  and  ill 
from  fatigue  and  want  of  sleep,  the  poor  girl  sank  down 
nearly  fainting  into  the  rich  velvet  chair  which  was  hand- 
ed to  her,  feeling  that  an  asylum  was  reached  for  a  time,  at 
least;  but,  alas!  poor,  unsophisticated  child,  her  troubles 
were  not  over  yet — no  haven  there. 

After  a  full  half  hour's  weary  waiting,  a  tall,  dignified 
lady,  with  haughty,  aristocratic  face,  faded  blue  eyes,  peer- 
ing through  massive  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  attired  in  rust- 
ling black  silk,  entered  and  stood  haughtily  askance  just 
within  the  door. 

Rising  and  bowing,  Lila  inquires  timidly,   u  Is  this 
Mrs. — ■  ?" 

"  Yes,"  is  the  frigid  monosyllable,  and  none  reassured,  the 
poor  girl  proceeded  to  make  known  her  errand  in  a  rather 
confused  manner,  giving  her  name  as  Miss  Lila  Black. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  what  you  wish,"  was  the  slow,  dig- 
nified reply,  "  but  have  you  references,  Miss  Black  ?  " 

"  No,  marm  ;  but  I  can  assure  you  that  there  is  no  need 
of  them.    I  am  an  orphan  and  stranger  here,  but  of  the  . 


The  Exile. 


129 


highest  respectability.  I  wish  to  keep  my  whereabouts 
secret  from  my  friends  for  a  while,  in  order  to  escape  a 
hateful  marriage  they  would  force  upon  me,  or  else  I  could 
furnish  unexceptional  references." 

<£  Yes,  Miss  Black,"  was  answered  in  the  same  slow,  rigid 
manner,  "I  do  not  doubt  your  respectability,  still  I  am 
compelled  to  refuse  you  apartments  in  my  house,  which  is 
strictly  select,  and  to  keep  up  its  high  reputation  I  am  call- 
ed on  to  see  that  I  admit  no  one  without  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance, or  else  unquestionable  references,  or  a  reliable 
introduction.  As  you  cannot  furnish  either,  I  am  com- 
pelled, in  conformity  with  the  rules  of  the  establishment^ 
to  refuse  you  admittance ;  so  will  wish  you  a  very  good 
morning,''  and  with  a  stately  inclination  of  the  head,  she 
glided  away  as  haughtily  as  she  had  entered,  leaving  the 
insulted  and  thoroughly  alarmed  Lila  to  find  her  way  out 
the  best  she  could. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  murmured  the  confused  girl,  as  she 
was  thus  unceremoniously  thrust  out  on  the  street,  in  a 
quiet,  select  portion  of  a  strange  city,  the  haunt  of  Charles- 
ton's aristocracy.  She  walked  on  in  a  sort  of  maze,  wonder- 
ing what  she  should  do ;  her  fragile  form  almost  tottering 
beneath  the  load  she  carried.  Suddenly  coming  up  to  the 
corner  of  another  street,  she  saw  one  of  the  city  guardsmen 
slowly  pacing  his  round  of  duty.  He  was  an  old,  kindly- 
faced  Irishman,  and  eagerly  the  runaway  Lila  accosted  him, 
inquiring  if  he  could  direct  her  to  a  boarding-house.  She 
did  not  now  ask  for  a  select  one.  In  desperation,  she  felt 
that  any  place  of  shelter  would  do.  The  man  considered  a 
moment,  looking  wonderingly  into  the  fair  face  of  the  eager 
petitioner. 

"  Faith,  darlint,  I  cannot  exactly  towld  yer.    There  is  one 

down  strait,  a  real  hotel,  with  many  fine  ladies,  and 

now,  thinking  of  it,  there  i?  one  kept  by  two  nice  gintle 
ladies,  on  this  very  strait,  ~No.  29,  right  on  this  side.  See 
darlint,  you  just  take  this  side  down,  and  look  for  No.  29, 
and  yer  will  be  shure  to  find  it.'' 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  was  the  grateful  answer,  as  the  girl 


130  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


hastened  away,  soon  finding  No.  29.  But  still,  with  a  fail- 
ing heart  and  rising  fear,  lest  she  might  not  obtain  shelter 
there,  she  timidly  rang  the  bell.  The  summons  was  in- 
stantly answered  by  a  smart  mulatto  boy,  and  on  Lila  in- 
quiring to  see  the  lady,  she  was  shown  into  the  pleasant, 
handsome  parlor.  This  time  she  is  not  kept  waiting.  A 
pleasant-faced  lady,  of  about  thirty,  entered,  and  bowing 
politely  explained : 

"  My  sister,  Mrs.  Henderson,  generally  attends  to  callers, 
but  as  she  is  quite  busy  just  now,  requested  that  I  should 
see  you  in  her  stead." 

Quite  reassured,  by  her  kindly  face  and  affable  manner, 
Lila  rose,  and  bowing,  explained : 

"I  am  a  stranger  here,  just  arriving  this  morning,  and 
wishing  to  obain  board,  was  directed  to  come  here.  I  am 
an  orphan,  and  being  tired  of  depending  upon  my  friends, 
determined  to  come  to  the  city  with  the  intention  of  making 
my  own  livelihood  as  instructress  of  vocal  and  instrumental 
music,  and  desire  at  present,  a  nice,  quiet  home." 

"  From  where  did  you  come,  and  what  is  your  name, 
please?"  inquired  the  lady,  looking  interested. 

"  From  H  ,  North  Carolina,  and  my  name  is  Lila 

Black."  One  lie  always  leads  to  another,  and  so  it  was 
now  with  Lila ;  changing  her  name  she  must  also  change 
her  place  of  abode,  she  thought,  as  she  desired  to  escape 
detection  in  her  exile. 

"Yes,  well  I  will  present  your  wants  to  sister  and  see  if 
she  can  accommodate  you.  At  present  we  have  quite  a 
full  house,  but  possibly  might  find  room  for  another." 

"  Do  please  take  me  in  ;  any  little  corner  will  answer, 
for  I  am  weary,  having  traveled  all  yesterday  and  last 
night." 

"  Would  you  object  to  the  garret  ?  Sister  and  I  have 
one  and  find  it  quite  pleasant." 

"  Not  at  all,  in  fact  I  would  prefer  it,  as  my  means  are 
quite  limited,  for  I  presume  the  board  will  be  cheaper  if  I 
went  up  so  high  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  with  a  merry  laugh,  "but  I  will  see  what 
I  can  do  for  you  ;  excuse  me  a  moment." 


The  Exile. 


131 


Presently  she  returned  with  the  information  that  they 
would  accommodate  her,  provided  she  was  willing  to  oc- 
cupy the  garret  for  awhile,  that  a  little  later  in  the  season 
some  of  the  boarders  would  leave  for  the  North,  then  she 
could  obtain  a  room. 

Eagerly,  thankfully,  Lila  accepted  the  accommodations, 
and  taking  out  her  purse  paid  the  six  dollars  which  was  re- 
quired from  her  in  advance  for  one  week's  board.  Then 
at  her  request,  she  was  immediately  shown  up  to  her  quar- 
ters. Wearily  she  dragged  her  tired,  aching  limbs  up  the 
long  flight  of  stairs.  She  found  her  room  rather  cramped, 
but  neat  and  clean,  the  low  pavilioned  cot  looking  par- 
ticularly tempting  to  the  worn  out  girl.  Yery  soon  she 
was  disrobed,  and  thankful  for  once  in  her  life,  the  weary 
exile  threw  herself  upon  it.  Exhausted  nature  gave  way, 
and  very  soon  a  deep,  heavy  sleep,  sinking  every  fear  and 
heartache  into  oblivion,  for  a  time  wrapped  her  in  its  thrall. 
Hour  after  hour  she  slept  on,  undisturbed  by  the  luncheon 
and  dinner  bell,  the  busy  tripping  of  feet,  the  merry  peals 
of  laughter,  and  melody  floating  up  through  tlie  house  all 
day. 

Just  toward  twilight  she  aw&ke  suddenly,  but  it  was 
many  minutes  before  she  could  remember  where  she  was, 
or  what  had  happened,  so  deep  and  profound  had  been  her 
slumber.  Then,  as  with  a  flash,  it  all  came  to  mind  ;  she 
sprang  up  exclaiming : 

"  Is  it  possible  that  I  have  slept  all  day  ?  " 

Her  head  throbbed  with  a  dull,  heavy  ache,  and  she  felt 
faint  and  ill  for  the  want  of  some  refreshment,  but  seeing 
no  way  of  summoning  a  servant  she  determined  to  go 
down  to  supper,  but  it  was  with  great  difficulty  that  she 
managed  to  comb  her  hair  and  prepare  herself  to  meet 
others;  and  yet  she  was  surprisingly,  almost  ethereally 
lovely  when  ready  to  descend  ;  her  fair  hair  in  a  massive 
coil,  wound  high  upon  her  head  like  a  coronet  of  pale  gold, 
her  eyes  large  and  almost  startlingly  blue,  circled  with 
dark  lines,  contrasting  strikingly  with  her  very  pale,  deli- 
cate face  ;  she  wore  a  pale  blue  muslin  dress  and  blue  rib- 


132 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


bons,  a  slight  gold  chain  circled  her  throat,  from  which  was 
suspended  a  heavy  Maltese  cross.  Simplicity  of  attire  was 
always  becoming  to  the  fair,  lovely  Lila,  and  so  she  was 
now. 

As  she  timidly  entered  the  brilliantly  lighted  drawing- 
room  quite  a  battery  of  eyes  attacked  her,  while  a  murmur 
of  admiration  ran  through  the  room,  yet  the  evident  sen- 
sation which  her  entrance  had  caused  did  not  seem  to  at- 
tract a  young  lady  who  sat  before  the  piano,  for  she  neither 
turned,  nor  ceased  the  operatic  solo  upon  which  she  was 
engaged. 

Miss  Lafonte,  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Henderson,  entered  soon 
after,  and  immediately  approached  Lila,  and  said  kindly, 
"  Yery  glad  to  see  you  up,  Miss  Black  ;  I  hope  you  feel 
refreshed  after  your  long  nap.  As  you  did  not  answer  to 
the  call  for  dinner  I  went  up  to  see  whether  you  were  sick, 
but  finding  you  sleeping  so  soundly,  I  would  not  disturb 
your  slumbers,  for  I  knew  you  had  been  travelling  and  were 
very  tired.  But  you  must  really  feel  starved  out,  and  as 
supper  is  not  due  yet,  you  had  better  come  and  get  a  cup 
of  tea  at  once,  for  you  look  quite  faint.  Come,  dear,  and 
after  refreshing  yourself  I  will  introduce  you  to  your  fel- 
low-boarders. We  are  like  one  family  here,  and  you  must 
make  yourself  quite  at  home  and  be  sociable." 

Lila,  readily  complying,  was  led  off  by  the  bustlings 
talkative  lady,  who  seated  her  at  a  small  side-table  and  soon 
supplied  it  with  nice  little  delicacies,  pressing  the  shy, 
shrinking  Lila  to  eat ;  but,  although  having  eaten  nothing 
for  two  days,  the  girl  seemed  utterly  to  loathe  the  sight  of 
food,  and  could  not  eat  a  mouthful,  but  drank  quite  fever- 
ishly two  cups  of  the  delightful,  fragrant  tea,  which  car- 
ried off  the  headache  instantaneously,  and  refreshed  her 
wonderfully.  After  which  they  returned  to  the  parlor, 
and  the  new  boarder  was  formally  introduced  to  each  one 
present  separately. 

14  Now,  Miss  Black,  this  completes  our  family  group  at 
present,"  said  Miss  Lafonte,  conducting  her  young  charge 
up  to  the  grand  piano,  where  the  aforesaid  young  lady  still 


The  Exile. 


133 


sat,  idly,  dreamingly  turning  the  leaves  of  a  music-book, 
and  humming  stanzas  of  French  love  songs. 

"  Irene,  here  is  an  addition  to  our  family,  and  although 
a  rival  in  beauty,  and  perhaps  in  music,  I  trust  you  may 
soon  become  fast  friends — Miss  Lila  Black,  Miss  Irene 
Burgoyne.'' 

Haughtily  the  young  lady  raised  her  queenly  head,  lift- 
ing her  starry  orbs  to  the  fair,  startled  face  of  Lila,  then, 
with  an  involuntary  interest,  and  preceptibly  darkening 
brow,  she  inclined  her  head  in  acknowledgement  of  the  in- 
troduction, saying  coldly  : 

"  I  am  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Miss  Black, 
and  trust  that  we  may  become  friends." 

But  the  tone  was  cold,  the  mouth  scornful  that  uttered 
the  affected  pleasure  which  spoke  the  conventional  lie. 
That  glance  had  shown  her  that  this  new  comer  was  beauti- 
ful, and  a  rival  indeed.  Irene  Burgoyne  was  terribly  jeal- 
ous and  fearful  of  a  rival,  and  instantly  a  bitter  dislike 
was  apparent  in  her  heart — a  decided  enmity  sown  there, 
which  promised  to  grow  and  flourish  into  a  fervent,  destruc- 
tive hatred. 

And  Lila  stood  for  a  moment  petrified  with  surprise, 
then  recollecting  herself,  flushed  hotly  as  she  said  in 
answer  to  the  youug  lady : 

"I  am  also  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Miss  Bur- 
goyne," but  the  lie  is  greater,  perhaps,  this  time. 

a  This  is  Irene  Burgoyne,  his  cousin,  the  girl  whom  he 
loves,  and  who  will  be  his  wife,"  were  the  swift,  poignant 
arrows  which  darted  through  her  brain  and  struck  with  a 
sharp  pain  into  the  jealous  heart.  Poor,  doomed  child  of  a 
cruel,  mysterious  fate  !  fleeing  from  one  evil  and  plunged 
headlong  into  a  greater,  more  poignant,  dangerous  one. 
This  uncontrolled  thing  called  fate,  what  is  it  that  should 
cause  these  two  to  meet?  Ah!  cruel,  relentless,  subtle 
power,  who  can  fathom  thy  mysterious  dealings  with  the 
doomed  children  of  earth  ! 

Yain  would  it  be  for  me  to  attempt  delineating  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  unhappy  Lila,  as  she  tossed 
9 


134 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


restlessly  upon  her  sleepless  couch  that  night,  burdened 
with  all  her  anguish.  Self-exiled  from  home,  alone  in  a 
strange  city,  with  no  way  clear  to  her  confused  mind  how 
she  could  ever  earn  the  needed  six  dollars  with  which  to 
pay  her  weekly  board,  besides  other  requisite  expenses,  and 
now,  to  crown  it  all,  she  has  been  led  by  an  unseen  power 
to  the  very  house  where  dwells  her  fortunate  rival,  the  girl 
whom  she  had  held  in  such  bitter  hatred,  without  knowing 
her.  Xow  to  meet  and  mingle  with  her  seemed  indeed  a 
terrible  evil  to  the  miserable,  home-sick  child. 

'•'What  is  it  that  has  brought  me  here  to  her  very  pres- 
ence, the  one  that  will  enjoy  the  love  I  crave,"  is  the  sad. 
painful  refrain  of  the  wretched  Lila,  as  she  restlessly  tosses 
upon  her  pillow,  the  night  dragging  slowly,  wearily  on. 
The  morning  found  her  ill,  burning  with  fever  and  racked 
with  pain.  The  mental  anguish,  excited  strain  upon  her 
nervous  system,  and  the  unusual  physical  fatigue  to  which 
she  had  been  subjected,  was  more  than  one  of  her  delicate 
organization  could  withstand,  and  long  before  night  she 
became  delirious,  and  was  pronounced  by  the  physician 
called,  as  being  very  ill  and  threatened  with  brain  fever, 
and  in  which  serious  malady  it  terminated  before  that  night 
was  spent.  Day  after  day,  Lila  tossed  and  raved  upon  her 
sick  bed.    Every  attention  was  paid  her. 

A  skillful  physician,  was  in  attendance,  and  an  experi- 
enced nurse  waited  upon  her  day  and  night,  and  it  seemed 
hard  to  know  which  would  gain  the  ascendency — earthly 
skill  or  grim  death.  For  days  she  seemed  to  hover  on  the 
brink  of  eternity.  The  crisis  came  and  passed,  and  the  poor, 
desolate  waif  was  spared  yet  longer  on  earth,  to  suffer 
and  endure,  to  sin  and  to  be  sinned  against,  to  pay  out  the 
penalty  to  its  bitter  dregs  ;  a  just  God  has  decreed  that 
"the  child  shall  bear  the  iniquity  of  the  parents.''  To  be 
tempted,  slandered,  persecuted,  wronged  and  ruined.  We 
should  not  dare  to  question  a  holy,  wrathful  God,  nor 
should  we  dare  to  blame  him  for  his  dealings  with  his  own. 
But  to  our  short  sighted  vision,  how  can  we  forbear  from 
saying,  would  that  she  had  died  just  then  ;  that  her  yet 


The  Exile.  135 

guiltless  soul  could  have  fled  its  earthly  tenement  before  it 
was  sered,  soured  and  darkened  ;  before  it  had  drank  the 
bitter  cup  of  woe,  sin  and  crime  reserved  for  her  in  the 
then  not  distant  future ;  would  that  she  could  have  laid 
down  her  burden  of  imaginary  sorrow,  sadness  and  care 
ere  she  found  out,  to  her  own  bitter  cost,  the  stern,  cruel, 
relentless  reality  of  life  meted  out  for  the  desolate  victim 
of  fate. 

Five  weeks  after  her  arrival  at  Mrs.  Henderson's,  Lila 
found  to  her  dismay  that  she  was  penniless  and  just  con- 
valesent  from  her  recent  serious  illness,  frail  as  some  deli- 
cate hot-house  plant  ejected  from  its  native  sphere,  seem- 
ingly ready  to  perish  at  the  slightest  blast,  burdened  with 
debt  and  utterly  inadequate  to  the  slightest  exertion.  The 
first  stern  awakening  of  her  precarious  situation  came  one 
week  after  she  arose  from  her  sick  bed,  when  at  breakfast 
three  heavy  bills  were  sent  up  on  the  waiter  containing  the 
dainty  bit  of  food  with  which  her  fastidious  appetite  was 
satisfied — one  for  four  weeks'  board,  the  others  for  the 
physician's  and  nurse's  exorbitant  fees.  Alarmed  and  ap- 
palled, the  trembling  girl  searched  out  her  purse,  but  found 
to  her  horror  that  she  had  only  sufficient  to  liquidate  half 
of  what  was  marked  against  her. 

Long  she  sat  that  morning  pondering  her  alarming  situa- 
tion. "What  must  she  do?"  but  echo  only  answered,  "what 
must  she  do  V  She  knew  that  she  was  unable  to  make  any 
effort,  as  yet,  at  self-sustenance ;  and  yet  she  dimly  understood 
that  she  could  not  lie  there  idle  and  sick  on  the  hands  of 
strangers.  Something  must  be  done,  and  in  her  dilemma  her 
thoughts  turned  upon  her  small  stock  of  jewelry,  and  she 
felt,  even  if  disposed  of,  it  would  not  meet  the  demand 
pressing  upon  her  then.  Taking  out  her  small  jewelry  box, 
the  girl  counted  the  few  rings,  two  pair  of  ear-drops,  three 
simple  gold  pins  and  the  chain  and  cross,  the  only  thing  of 
any  value  which  she  owned,  and  in  itself  not  a  trifle  of 
what  she  needed.  Suddenly  a  flush  passed  over  her  pale, 
wan  cheeks  ;  a  sad,  wild,  excited  look  came  into  her  large, 
sad  eyes,  as  they  caught  the  glitter  of  a  diamond ;  the  truth 


i36 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


of  its  appearance  there  in  her  case,  and  a  guilty  thought 
darled  like  a  lightning  flasli  across  her  almost  distracted 
mind.  In  the  hurrj  and  excitement  of  her  leaving  home, 
and  in  collecting  her  few  jewels  together  that  morning,  she 
had  put  a  diamond  pin  belonging  to  Charlotte,  which  the 
latter  had  loaned  her  to  wear  at  Masie's  wedding,  in  the 
case  with  her  jewelry ;  and  now,  in  her  hour  of  desperation 
and  utter  helplessness,  the  temptation  came  with  over- 
whelming force  to  use  it  as  a  means  of  escape  from  her  em- 
barrassment. She  knew  it  would  be  stealing.  She  knew 
how  highly  Charlotte  valued  it;  not  only  that  it  formed  an 
important  part  to  a  set,  but  it  was  valued  as  a  sacred  heir- 
loom of  the  past  glory  and  wealth  of  the  Graham  family. 
But  the  girl  pondering  it,  felt  that  it  was  her  only  salva- 
tion, and  the  more  she  thought  on  it  the  stronger  grew  the 
temptation,  until  finally  she  yielded,  trying  to  pacify  the 
still,  small  voice  within,  that  in  the  future  she  would  re- 
deem and  return  it  to  its  owner. 

With  this  determination,  she  sent  for  Miss  Lafonte,  and 
laying  her  case  before  that  lady,  matters  were  soon  arranged 
satisfactorily  to  both  parties,  Mrs.  Lafonte  carrying  off 
what  money  Lila  had,  also  the  handsome  Maltese  cross  and 
the  diamond  pin,  which  was  of  much  more  value  than  Lila 
knew,  promising  as  a  return,  to  pay  her  three  bills,  and 
giyeherahome  for  an  indefinite  period,  keeping  the  jewels 
as  security  until  she  was  able  to  pay  her  back  and  thus  re- 
deem them.  And  so  it  was  settled,  and  Lila,  although  with 
many  twinges  of  conscience  from  what  she  had  done,  went 
to  bed  that  night  with  a  certain  feeling  of  relief  that  she 
had  a  temporary  home  with  no  immediate  need  of  exertion. 
Her  naturally  dreamy,  indolent  disposition  was  satisfied, 
and  the  days  came  and  went,  health  and  strength  returning 
slowly  but  surely.  Yet  she  made  no  effort  to  obtain  em- 
ployment, putting  off  the  dreaded  ordeal  as  something  of 
the  future.  Hour  after  hour  she  would  sit  alone  in  her  sol- 
itary attic,  reading  or  thinking,  going  down  stairs  very  sel- 
dom, only  to  her  meals,  and  sometimes  from  the  urgent 
persuasion  of  Miss  Lafonte,  she  would  come  down  of  an 


The  Exile. 


137 


-evening  in  the  parlor  and  favor  the  company  with  some  of 
her  rare  musical  talent,  but  remained  ever  shy  of  her  fel- 
low-boarders, and  especially  so  towards  Miss  Burgoyne, 
whose  disdain  and  secret  dislike  for  the  sad,  beautiful  girl 
seemed  to  increase  daily,  and  increased  in  fervency  as  did 
Lila's  hatred  and  jealousy  for  this,  her  fortunate  rival. 

Several  weeks  glided  by  thus,  when  a  change  came  to 
the  dreamy  girl's  life.  One  evening,  just  on  to  twilight, 
she  sat  before  the  piano,  playing  and  singing  a  touching, 
dreamily  passionate  solo,  and  as  she  sat  there »  attired  in 
white,  she  looked  exquisitely  lovely,  and  yet  touchingly 
simple  and  child-like.  Since  her  illness,  Lila  was  even  more 
lovely  than  before,  her  complexion  being  purer  and  more 
distinctly  tinted;  her  eyes  seemingly  brighter  and  bluer;  the 
cheek  more  rounded,  with  the  delicate  tint  of  returning 
health  coloring  it  into  a  peachy  bloom,  while  the  fair,  abun- 
dant hair,  of  which  she  was  shorn  during  her  late  illness, 
was  replaced  by  numberless  creamy-like  little  curls  all  over 
her  shapely  head,  and  lying  bewitchingly  on  her  forehead 
in  cunning,  infantile  ringlets,  producing  a  most  lovely  ef- 
fect. Absorbed  in  the  one  passion  of  her  life  it  made  her  eyes 
to  light,  her  cheeks  to  glow,  transfiguring  her  from  her 
usual  statue-like  beauty  into  a  creature  of  real,  exquisite 
loveliness.  Her  song  ended,  and  thinking  that  Miss  Bur- 
goyne might  want  the  piano,  as  she  generally  came  down 
about  that  time,  she  closed  the  bock  and  turning  around  was 
somewhat  amazed  and  deeply  confused  to  find  that  a  gen- 
tleman was  present  who  was  regarding  her  with  eyes  full  of 
a  rude  admiration,  while  an  expression  of  evident  wonder 
rested  on  his  handsome,  evil  face. 

The  girl  was  about  to  escape  from  the  room,  but  just 
here  Miss  Lafonte  entered  and  smilingly  said,  "I  presume 
an  introduction  is  wanted.  Miss  Lila  Black,  Mr.  Burgoyne, 
the  father  of  Irene." 

The  gentleman  bowed  profoundly  as  he  said,  "I  am  very 
happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Miss  Black.  For  the  last 
half  hour  I  have  been  a  most  charmed  man,  not  only  by  the 
magnificent  performance  of  that  sweetly  rendered  and  fa- 


138  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

miliar  song,  nor  by  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  performer, 
but  chiefly  from  the  striking  resemblance  between  you  and 
a  very  beautiful  young  lady  I  knew  and  loved  in  the  days 
gone  by." 

"Your  daughter,  I  presume,  you  are  alluding  to,  Mr. 
Burgoyne,  for  every  one  tells  me  that  there  is  a  great  like- 
ness existing  between  us,  but  which  I  fail  to  perceive,"  was 
the  rather  cold  reply  of  Lila,  and  Miss  Lafonte  laughingly 
interposed,  "I  declare,  Mr.  Burgoyne,  I  never  saw  such  a 
striking  likeness  existing  between  two  persons,  utter  stran- 
gers to  each  other,  too,  that  certainly  exists  between  your 
daughter  and  Miss  Black.  Neither  of  the  young  ladies  will 
acknowledge  the  fact,  but  it  remains  the  same.  JNo  one 
that  has  ever  seen  the  two  can  fail  to  notice  it." 

"Yes,  I  see  now  that  there  is,  as  you  say,  a  most  decided 
resemblance  existing,"  the  gentleman  replied,  looking  with 
bold  eyes  into  the  blushing  face  of  the  girl,  "but  Miss  Black 
is  a  great  deal  prettier  than  Irene.  Their  eyes  and  the 
haughty  toss  of  the  head  are  the  very  same,  but  the  resem- 
blance to  this  other  lady  is  even  greater." 

"Well,  Mr.  Burgoyne,  we  will  discuss  this  question  an- 
other time.  I  want  Miss  Black's  attention  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  here  is  your  lovely  daughter  to  entertain  you,  so 
you  must  excuse  us  for  a  short  while." 

And  the  lady  seeing,  doubtless,  that  her  young  charge 
did  not  like  Mr.  Burgoyne's  evident  rudeness,  drew  Lila 
away  just  as  Miss  Irene  entered.  The  two  girl's  eyes — eyes 
that  were  the  very  counterpart  of  each  other — met,  met  in 
a  burning  glance  of  secret  hate  and  dislike. 

"Miss  Black,  I  have  a  message  to  deliver  which  I  have 
been  trying  all  day  to  attend  to,''  Miss  Lafonte  explained  as 
she  drew  Lila  to  a  seat  beside  her  in  the  next  room.  "A 
very  dear  friend  of  mine  has  two  little  girls  who  are  quite 
musical  in  their  taste,  and  their  father  is  very  anxious  to 
place  them  under  competent  instruction.  I  was  telling  him 
about  you  and  of  your  desire  to  obtain  some  music  scholars, 
and  he  requested  that  you  should  call  to  see  or  else  commu- 
nicate with  him  on  the  subject.    He  is  a  young  widower 


The  Exile. 


139 


and  very  wealthy,  and  I  know  that  if  he  heard  you  play 
once  he  would  employ  you  instantly  at  your  own  price.  I 
would  advise  you,  as  a  friend,  not  to  let  the  chance  slip,  for 
you  know,  dear,  that  your  diamond  pin  is  waiting  to  be  re- 
deemed, and  I  think  you  need  clothes  dreadfully." 

"Yes,  1  know  I  do,"  Lila  replied,  a  flush  of  shame  dye- 
ing her  cheek  for  a  moment,  "and  I  will  very  gladly  accept 
the  charge  of  instructing  the  little  girls.  Where  can  I  see 
the  gentleman?" 

"  I  will  give  you  his  card  and  you  can  call  on  him,  which 
I  think  best — so  that  you  can  make  arrangements  at  once. 
You  will  have  to  call  at  his  residence  to  give  the  lessons, 
but  no  impropriety  can  attach  itself  to  that  circumstance; 
for  his  mother  lives  with  him,  having  the  charge  of  his 
home  and  children;  and  there  is  yet  another  scholar  which 
I  am  pretty  certain  you  could  obtain ;  Mr.  Adair,  whom 
you  met  here  the  other  evening,  was  quite  delighted  with 
your  performance  at  the  piano,  and  I  know  that  if  he  was 
aware  of  your  willingness  to  take  scholars  he  would  employ 
your  services  at  once  for  his  young  sister.  He  is  a  bache- 
lor, you  know,  and  a  great  admirer  of  Miss  Burgoyne,  and 
perhaps  as  she  is  out  of  his  reach,  he  might  transfer  his  ad- 
miration in  another  direction.  He  would  be  a  good  catch, 
Miss  Lila,  for  he  is  in  a  flourishing  business  and  has  a  beau- 
tiful home  ;  but  leaving  this  probability  out,  1  think  it 
would  be  a  happy  change  for  you  to  And  something  to 
employ  your  time,  and  take  your  thoughts  more  from 
yourself.  Bat,  as  usual,  I  am  wanted;  I  hear  sister  calling. 
Think  of  what  I  propose,  dear,  and  give  me  an  answer  in 
the  morning,"  and  without  further  parley  the  busy  little 
lady  was  off  like  a  flash. 

And  Lila,  in  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  Miss  Laf onte, 
and  her  suddenly  awakened  mind  as  to  her  needs,  thought 
of  the  proposition,  and  before  she  slept  that  night  had 
concluded  to  accept  the  situations  if  they  could  be  obtained, 
it  is  true,  against  her  inclination,  but  urged  on  by  the  neces- 
sity of  her  condition,  and  the  faint  hopcof  trying  to  redeem 
her  sister's  diamond  pin. 


140 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


The  next  morning  Miss  Lafonte  accompanied  the  rather 
fearful  and  timid  Lila  to  make  application  for  the  now 
ardently  desired  position  as  instructress  of  music,  and  in 
both  cases  was  duly  employed — and  later  in  the  same  day 
she  received  the  addition  of  two  other  scholars — the  little 
daughters  of  a  lady  boarding  at  Mrs.  Henderson's.  And 
now  with  work  before  her,  Lila  began  a  new  era  in  her  life's 
history.  The  long  summer  days  came  and  went,  and  con- 
trary to  her  expectations,  Lila  rather  enjoyed  this  new 
phase  in  her  life.  She  found  it  very  pleasant  calling  at  the 
handsome  residence  of  Mr.  Mordaunt  and  spending  an  hour 
each  day  instructing  the  two  bright,  apt  little  scholars;  then 
twice  a  week  making  a  call  at  the  beautiful  home  of  Mr. 
Adair,  teaching  the  pretty,  chatty  and  apt  little  Miss  Adele 
her  music  lessons,  and  being  taught  herself  how  to  look 
more  brightly  upon  life  by  the  gay  spirited  little  miss. 
Then  in  the  early  afternoon  she  would  give  the  little  Misses 
Marsden  their  lessons,  and  she  was  free  for  the  rest  of  the 
day,  being  enlivened  and  refreshed  from  her  exercises  in 
the  open  air,  and  the  3ontactand  society  of  the  young,  and 
with  the  new  and  thrilling  consciousness  of  being  able  to 
earn  her  own  livelihood. 

Every  evening  she  was  down  in  the  parlor  now  ;  her  face 
brighter  and  lovelier  from  the  feeling  of  independence  ;  her 
manner  more  cheerful,  and  her  dress  more  attractive,  from 
different  little  feminine  fineries  she  had  added  to  her  scant 
wardrobe  from  her  first  earnings. 

Mr.  Burgoyne,  polished,  gentlemanly  and  fascinating  in 
manner,  seemed  to  take  a  great  fancy  to  the  lovely  exile, 
every  evening  being  devoted  in  his  attentions  to  her  ;  and 
although  feeling  a  secret  dislike  and  fear  of  him,  Lila  al- 
lowed, and  with  smiling  lips  would  encourage,  him  to  linger 
about  her,  listening  to  his  tales  of  travel  and  adventure 
with  well  pretended  interest.  Then,  when  released  from 
his  hated  presence,  she  would  shake  off  the  uncomfortable 
fear  which  seemed  to  possess  her,  murmuring  with  a  fierce 
glitter  in  her  eye :  *"  Oh,  how  I  hate  him !  but  I  will  en- 
dure it  for  the  sake  of  teasing  her;  how  angrily  her  eyes 


The  Exile. 


141 


flash  when  she,  the  haughty  creature,  sees  her  father  ap- 
proach the  poor  music  teacher !  but  I  am  glad  that  I  have 
found  a  way  to  tease  and  vex  her,  the  hateful  up-start!" 

Thus  matters  glided  on  for  weeks,  when  one  night  Horace 
Burgoyne,  asking  her  to  walk  out  on  the  moonlit  piazza, 
startled  and  surprised  her  with  the  demand  that  she  would 
become  his  wife,  and  fly  with  him  to  France. 

"Business  of  an  imperative  nature  calls  me  at  once  to 
that  gay,  delightful  land  of  song  and  story,"  he  added ; 
u  but  I  can  not  go,  sweet  girl,  without  you  accompany  me 
as  my  darlings  treasured  bride.'' 

Lila  shrank  from  him  in  horror,  and  when  she  would  have 
gone  in,  refusing  utterly  to  listen  even  to  his  words  which 
insulted  and  frightened  her,  he  detained  her  forcibly,  con- 
tinuing : 

"I  will  not  take  this  cold  refusal,  Miss  Lila.  Give  me 
some  hope ;  I  can  not  and  will  not  give  you  up  so  easily. 
I  love  you,  adorable  creature ;  and  tell  me  you  will  be 
mine." 

The  girl  laughed  scornfully  as  she  replied,  ;<  I  thought 
you  were  a  gentleman  at  least,  Mr.  Burgoyne.  Again  I  de- 
mand that  you  let  me  go  in ;  your  words  insult  me,  and  I 
will  not  listen  to  another  syllable.'' 

But,  all  unheeded,  he  still  held  her  hand  in  an  iron  grasp, 
and  went  on  :  "  But  you  must  listen  to  me,  and  not  cast  me 
off  so  coldly.  I  am  rich,  Miss  Lila,  and  you  are  lonely, 
poor,  and  so  frail  and  lovely  to  battle  with  life.  Why  not 
become  my  wife,  and  a  dazzling  life  of  splendor,  ease  and 
gaiety  will  be  your  portion  in  the  gay  city  of  Paris.  I  sail 
for  that  port  in  two  weeks,  and  can  not  go  alone.  Irene 
loves  her  Louis  too  much  to  leave  him  here  and  go  with 
her  lonely,  widowed  father,  so  I  must  seek  me  a  wife." 

"Mr.  Burgoyne,  I  will  not  listen  to  this  nonsense;  let  me 
go,"  and,  with  a  scream,  the  affrighted  girl  burst  from  his 
grasp  and  made  a  rush  for  the  door,  almost  throwing  Miss 
Irene  prostrate  as  she  ran  in  and  up  to  her  room,  quivering 
and  crying  out  in  her  fear  and  utter  dismay  :  u  I  never  had 
an  idea  that  it  would  come  to  this  ;  I  thought  him  such  a 


142 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


polished,  kind  gentleman.  Am  I  fated  to  be  persecuted  by 
old  men  ?  Fleeing  from  one,  here  I  am  met  by  another. 
Oh  !  my  God,  protect  me  !" 

The  next  morning  Lila  rose  from  her  restless  couch  much 
later  than  usual ,  and  fearing  to  meet  her  last  evening's  tor- 
mentor, she  did  not  wait  on  breakfast,  but  went  out  to  her 
daily  task.  That  day  seemed  an  unusually  trying  one  to 
the  poor  girl.  Miss  Adair  was  contrary,  and  the  little 
Misses  Mordaunt  idle  and  refractory.  She  had  some  little 
purchases  to  make,  and  therefore  it  was  rather  late  when, 
tired  and  disheartened,  she  reached  home. 

Miss  Lafonte  met  her  with  a  decided  change  of  manner, 
her  usual  pleasant  "good  evening"  being  very  cool  and 
constrained,  remarking,  coldly :  "  I  am  very  sorry,  Miss 
Black,  that  I  have  cause  to  be  disappointed  in  you.  I 
thought  you  a  really  modest,  respectable  girl ;  but  it  seems 
that  yon  have  been  acting  very  improperly  of  late,  and  I 
find  out,  to  my  dismay,  that  you  are  ruining  the  reputation 
of  our  house,  and  sister  begs  that  you  will  immediately 
leave  and  find  another  home.  Miss  Burgoyne  and  several 
other  ladies  threaten  to  leave  us  if  you  remain  ;  so  please 
oblige  me  by  trying  to  find  some  shelter  before  night,  for 
I  really  cannot  allow  you  to  stay  under  this  roof  another 
night.  Miss  Burgoyne  and  her  father  are  very  particular ; 
and  as  young  Mr.  Montaine  will  be  down  next  week  to 
spend  his  vacation  with  his  betrothed,  it  will  be  most  dis- 
tressing for  us  to  lose  three  such  profitable  boarders  in  the 
dull  season  ;  so  again  I  beg  that  you  will  leave  immediately, 
for  your  presence  seems  to  endanger  the  reputation  of  our 
house.  1  think  we  are  clear  ;  if  there  is  a  balance  rest  as- 
sured that  it  is  in  your  favor.  We  find  that  the  diamond 
pin  is  not  so  valuable  as  we  thought  at  first,  still  will  let  it 
pass.  We  will  not  dispose  of  it,  but  keep  it,  so  .that  at  any 
time  you  wish  to  redeem  it,  you  can  do  so.  I  will  now 
wish  you  good-bye,  and  beg  that  you  will  favor  us  by  an 
early  departure."  And,  without  waiting  for  an  explana- 
tion or  any  excuse,  the  lady,  in  high  displeasure,  swept  up 
the  stairs. 


The  Exile. 


143 


Poor  Lila!  po)r  doomed  girl!  the  blow,  all  unexpected, 
pierced  her  to  the  heart.  Anger,  hatred,  mortification  and 
insulted  pride  raged  madly  within  her  heart,  as  she  slowly 
dragged  her  weary  steps  up  the  long  flight  of  stairs  leading 
to  her  attic.  With  flushed  cheek,  flashing  eyes,  her  slight 
form  quivering  with  the  intensity  of  her  outraged  feelings, 
she  paced  the  floor  like  an  enraged  panther,  soliloquizing : 

"  Great  God !  what  lies,  what  slander,  what  injustice  ! 
And  it  is  her  work.  She  is  afraid  that  I  will  expose  her 
father's  villainy.  My  very  heart-strings  seem  ready  to 
break  from  the  intensity  of  my  hatred  for  that  proud  girl ; 
but  I  will  see  her  yet  suffer  for  this  vile  cruelty.  What 
have  I  ever  done  to  provoke  her  spite  and  ill-will  ?  It  is  I 
that  have  cause  to  hate  her;  but  why  should  she  hate  me 
and  try  to  ruin  my  fair  fame  ?  Oh  !  how  I  hate  her !  Yes, 
hate  her  !  and  I  will  live  to  revenge  this  wrong.  I  will  yet 
make  that  girl  feel  my  hate  ;  I  will  make  her  suffer  ten 
pangs  for  every  one  that  I  suffer  now.  Wait,  Irene  Bur- 
goyne  ;  wait  and  see  what  I  can  and  will  do.  I  will  hum- 
ble your  pride  ;  I  will  humiliate  you  ;  just  wait."  And 
with  this  final  decision  she  grew  calmer,  but  it  was  the 
calm  of  a  heart-sick,  soul-despairing,  quiet  misery. 

With  a  face  pallid  as  death,  a  face  set  and  determined, 
from  the  reckless,  hopeless  pain  at  her  heart,  she  went 
about  her  few  preparations,  silently,  deliberately,  packing 
her  few  effects  into  as  small  a  compass  as  was  possible  ;  then 
putting  the  bundle  (for  she  had  no  trunk)  upon  the  bed, 
she  replaced  her  hat  upon  her  head,  and  left  the  room  in 
search  for  another  shelter.  On  her  way  down  stairs  she 
met  Irene  Bnrgoyne  ;  their  eyes,  blazing  with  the  scornful 
hate  each  felt  for  the  other,  met — met  in  a  defiant  glance 
of  antagonistic  ill-will, 

"  Fiend  !  "  hissed  the  maligned  Lila,  in  a  hoarse  whisper, 
her  face  white  from  the  inward  fury  of  her  soul,  "go  and 
enjoy  your  vile,  slanderous  lie  !  but,  as  you  live,  I  will 
make  you  suffer  for  it,  and  that  soon.  Next  week,  after 
Mr.  Montaine's  arrival,  I  will  call  and  ask  him  to  clear  my 
pure,  unblemished  fame.    He  knows  me  and  my  spotless 


144 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


character  well.  He  saved  me  once,  and  will  do  so  again. 
Liar,  until  then  adieu." 

And  mad  with  her  wild  fury,  the  slandered  girl  left  the 
house,  leaving  Irene  Burgoyne  pale,  frightened — nay,  ter- 
ror stricken.  Jealousy  of  the  great  and  exquisite  beauty 
of  the  lovely  music-teacher  had  aroused  all  the  hate  of  the 
beautiful  girl.  Expecting  her  lover  to  spend  his  summer 
vacation  with  her,  she  lived  in  a  perpetual  fear  to  have  him 
come  and  meet  so  lovely  a  creature  as  Lila  Black;  for  al- 
though vain  of  her  own  beauty,  she  had  to  acknowledge  to 
herself  that  Lila  was  a  rival  to  be  feared.  It  was  her  one 
all-consuming  thought  and  desire  to  get  the  lovely  girl  out 
of  the  way  before  the  arrival  of  her  cousin,  and  as  the 
time  approached  so  near,  wilder  grew  the  desire. 

The  night  before,  seeing  her  father  conduct  Lila  out  on 
the  piazza,  and  a  little  later,  seeing  the  poor,  frightened 
child  rush  in  with  a  scream,  had  given  her  sufficient  ground 
upon  which  to  build  a  cunning,  yet  cruel,  vile  fabrication, 
detrimental  to  the  fair  fame  of  the  lonely,  unprotected 
girl,  who  should  have  enlisted  her  womanly  sympathies  in- 
stead of  this  rancorous  ill-will,  and  with  a  guilty,  yet  joy- 
ous feeling  of  relief,  she  had  heard  Miss  Lafonte  dismiss 
this  hated  rival  from  the  house  ;  but  this  guilty  sensation 
of  relief  is  now  quickly  turned  into  fear  and  dismay,  by 
those  few  words  from  the  outraged  Lila  ;  and  with  a  heart 
almost  still  from  its  sudden  fear,  she  murmurs  : 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  She  knows  Louis  well,  and  will 
come  next  week  to  ask  and  claim  his  protection."  Then, 
with  a  start  and  sudden  pallor,  she  clasped  her  hands  to- 
gether in  mortal  terror.  The  thought  had  come,  perhaps 
this  was  her  rival — the  girl  which  the  anonymous  writer 
had  warned  her  was  stealing  the  affections  and  loyalty  of 
her  lover  from  herself.  A  sickening  fear  took  possession 
of  her  heart,  and  a  feeling  of  dread  threw  its  pall  over  her 
senses  as  she  thought  now  of  her  lover's  arrival  ;  and  it 
would  be  hard  to  tell  which  was  the  most  miserable  of  the 
two  girls  that  night — the  slandered  or  the  slanderer. 

The  next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table,  from  which 


The  Exile. 


145 


meal  Mr.  Burgoyne  was  unexpectedly  absent,  two  notes 
were  brought  in — one  for  Miss  Lafonte,  the  other  for  Miss 
Burgoyne.  The  former  merely  an  order  to  send  by  the 
bearer  the  bundle  belonging  to  Miss  Lila  Black,  the  latter, 
a  few  lines,  running  thus  : 

My  Dear  Irene — Your  dear  father  and  myself  will  be  married  soon.  He 
has  gone  off  on  a  little  trip  this  morning,  and  on  his  return  the  happy- 
event  will  take  place  ,and  I  trust,  as  your  mother,  you  will  love  me  a  little 
better  than  when  you  knew  me  as  Lila  Black.  I  trust  that  you  are  en- 
joying your  successful  work  amazingly.    Adieu,  for  awhile,  my  dear. 

Yours  in  sweet  revenge,  Lila. 

Irene  Burgoyne  did  not  faint ;  but,  as  I  feel  inadequate 
to  the  task  of  describing  her  sensation  of  horror  just  at 
that  moment,  I  will  leave  it  to  the  imagination  of  the 
reader  to  conceive  it,  if  possible. 

Judgment  comes  swiftly  sometimes.  The  biter  is  often 
bit,  and  so  it  happened  now.  The  vile,  thoughtless  deed 
of  cruelty  inflicted  by  Irene  Burgoyne,  a  deed  monstrous 
in  its  enormity,  for  it  was  the  first  vile  breath  of  slander 
that  started  on  its  downward  course  to  perdition  a  soul, 
then  innocent  and  unoffending,  was  turned  back  upon  her 
with  retaliating  keenness.  Scarcely  had  she  drained  this 
cup  of  horror  to  its  dregs,  when  a  bitter,  scathing  disap- 
pointment befell  her.    Louis  Montaine  wrote  that  he  would 

not  come  to  C  that  summer,  but  intended  to  visit 

Virginia  instead,  and  would  defer  his  visit  to  his  cousin 
until  Christmas.  But  I  will  lea^e  the  envied,  beautiful  Miss 
Burgoyne  with  her  company  of  pain,  disappointment,  guilt 
and  poignant,  regretful  misery,  and  turn  to  other  and,  I 
would  wish,  less  painful  scenes. 


THE  VISIT  TO  VIRGINIA. 


Ton  ly  wanted  one  week  more  of  study,  and  then  holi- 
day for  two  months.  Such  a  thought  would  bring  joy 
to  almost  any  student's  heart,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  do 
so  in  this  instance.  As  the  shades  of  twilight  began  to 
gather,  softening  the  glare  of  a  June  day  into  a  refreshing 
shadow.  Louis  Montaine  sat  in  a  nook  of  the  breezy  south 
piazza.  Books  were  scattered  about  him,  while  an  open 
one  lay  on  hi?  knee  ;  but,  the  deepening  gloom  preventing 
him  from  studying  further,  he  had  given  himself  up  to 
thinking,  it  seemed.  An  hour  before  he  had  received  a 
most  importunate  invitation  from  Arthur  Howard  to  ac- 
company him  and  his  sister  on  a  visit  to  their  grandfather 
in  Virginia.  Refusing  at  first,  he  had  been  almost  per- 
suaded, by  his  friend's  glowing  account  of  the  beauty  and 
unlimited  resources  for  pleasure  and  rare  fun  that  his  grand- 
father's country  seat  afforded,  to  accept  the  invitation,  and 
was  left  until  the  next  morning  to  decide  whether  he  would 
go  or  not,  and  sitting  there  now  he  was  trying  to  decide  it. 

He  knew  that  he  had  promised  Irene  Burgoyne  to  spend 
his  rapidly  approaching  vacation  in  Charleston  with  her. 
Only  that  morning  he  had  received  a  letter  from  her  urging 
him  to  come  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  and  stating  that 
she  had  engaged  him  delightful  apartments  and  pleasant 
board  at  Mrs.  Henderson's,  and  that  everything  was  in 
readiness  for  his  comfort  and  entertainment. 

The  young  man?s  heart  shrank  in  shuddering  abhorrence 
at  the  thought  of  this  faithfully  promised  visit,  and  yet  his 
high  sense  of  honor  forbade  him  breaking  that  promise. 
Since  the  conversation  he  had  accidentally  overheard  on 
the  cars,  his  feelings  and  views  towards  his  lovely  betrothed 
were  materially  changed.    He  could  not  experience  any 


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147 


delight  or  satisfaction  when  thinking  now  of  his  beautiful 
cousin.  The  knowledge  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a 
gambler  and  bad  man,  and  that  by  a  marriage  with  her  he 
would  disgrace  his  proud  name,  haunted  him  ever.  The 
polish  and  glitter  of  the  surface  was  gone,  and  in  its  flight 
had  revealed  the  true,  unvarnished  material,  which  made 
him  shrink  and  shudder  at  the  very  thought  of  the  position 
in  which  he  was,  by  his  self-will  and  disobedience,  placed. 
His  better  nature  telling  him  the  child  was  innocent,  no 
matter  what  her  parent  was,  and  his  word  plighted  on  the 
honor  of  his  name,  forbade  him  indulging  in  the  thought 
of  breaking  his  engagement.  He  felt  that  he  could  not 
draw  back,  yet  he  wished  it  something  of  the  future.  He 
could  not  make  his  mind  willing  to  go  back  to  his  home  so 
soon.  The  associations  were  too  sad  and  depressing,  the 
heat  and  close  atmosphere  of  the  city  too  debilitating.  He 
tried  to  excuse  himself  that  these  were  weighty  reasons  for 
his  not  being  willing  to  fulfill  his  promise.  But  the  truth  he 
could  not,  try  as  he  would,  hide  from  himself  was  the  gall- 
ing thought  of  being  seen  in  public  with  his  betrothed  and 
becoming  the  subject  of  unpleasant  remarks,  casting  stig- 
matizing reflections  upon  the  pure,  stainless  name  his  fa- 
ther had  left  in  his  sacred  keeping,  and  more  than  all  the 
chiefest  of  his  objections  is,  the  utter,  soul-abhorring  re- 
pugnance he  experienced  at  the  thought  of  meeting  Horace 
Burgoyne,  a  man  he  had  never  seen  since  his  baby  days,  a 
man  he  knew  to  have  been  the  enemy  of  his  beloved,  lost 
father,  a  man  whom  he  instinctively  feared  and  loathed, 
and  the  thought  of  meeting  and  associating  with  this  man, 
who  he  knew  was  in  Charleston  with  his  daughter,  caused 
him  now  to  throw  all  his  scruples  to  the  winds  and  to  brave 
the  consequences.  And  with  this  final  decision,  he  mental- 
ly soliloquized  :  "Come  what  will,  I  intend  to  go  with  How- 
ard next  week  to  Virginia  instead  of  going  down  to  Charles- 
ton." But  ah,  Louis  Montaine,  you  would  not  acknowledge, 
even  to  your  own  heart,  that  the  vision  of  a  bright-faced, 
brown-eyed  girl  had  much  to  do  with  your  decision. 

With  a  jump  and  glad  shout  of  joy  Arthur  Howard  heard 


148 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


the  decision  the  next  day,  and  as  he  entered  his  home  that 
afternoon  he  canght  his  sister  around,  and  waltzing  her 
across  the  floor  cried,  "Hurrah,  sis!  Louis  will  go  with  us  ! 
How  do  you  like  the  arrangement  C 

"Rather  him  than  Mr.  Hayne,  but  I  thought  Harry 
would  go." 

"Pshaw  !  I  do  not  want  Hal.  He  is  too  quiet.  I  want 
some  one  with  whom  I  can  have  fun.  So,  young  lady,  just 
be  satisfied;  he  is  not  going  for  your  company,  remember." 

Nothing  more  was  said  then,  but  a  few  minutes  later,  up 
in  her  room,  Charlotte  Howard  hid  her  glowing  face  in  her 
hands,  and  the  whispered  cry  of  her  heart  said: 

"I  am  so  glad  !*'    Had  she  forgotten  ? 

*  *  *  #  *  * 

The  long  looked-for  vacation  was  at  hand,  and  with  it 
came  the  needed  recreation  for  the  tired  students.  Harry 
and  Florence  Bentley  left  for  a  few  weeks  visit  to  an  un- 
cle's plantation  home,  some  twenty  miles  away,  while  Ar- 
thur Howard,  his  sister  and  Louis  Montaine.  with  bright  an- 
ticipations 01  expected  enjoyment,  started  the  same  time 
for  Virginia.  Two  gay,  merry  and  satisfied,  the  other,  al- 
though with  some  twinges  of  conscience  for  acting  so  con- 
trary to  his  promise,  and  wondering  how  Irene  would  take 
it,  felt  glad  notwithstanding,  for  he  had  dreaded  the  visit 
to  his  changed  home,  and  felt  this  a  sort  of  undefined  re- 
prieve from  the  weeks  of  uncomfortable  experience  and 
sad  memories  he  had  thought  inevitable.  Louis  Montaine 
was  not  now  the  blind,  infatuated  lover  of  a  few  months 
back;  his  passionace  adoration  for  his  boyish  charmer  was 
dispelled  forever,  and  he  now  only  tried  to  reconcile  him- 
self to  his  fate,  but  intended  to  make  his  marriage  with 
Irene  Burgoyne  something  of  the  future,  and  as  Arthur 
Howard  had  suggested,  "to  take  it  out  while  he  was  vet 
free." 

At  the  close  of  the  second  day  of  traveling,  the  merry 
but  thoroughly  tired  travellers  arrived  at  their  destination. 
The  family  coach,  drawn  by  a  handsome  pair  of  grays,  be- 
hind which  sat  the  liveried  footman,  and  in  front  the 


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149 


faithful  old  silver-haired  coachman,  "Daddy  Simon,"  met 
them  at  the  depot,  and  after  an  hour  of  pleasant  driving,  en- 
tertaining and  delightful  from  the  picturesque  beauty  of 
the  country  through  which  they  passed,  lighted  up  as  it 
were  into  exceeding  magnificence  under  the  yellow  glow  of 
the  glorious  summer  sunset,  the  party  came  in  sight  of  the 
old  Graham's  homestead,  a  homestead  that  had  sheltered 
generations  back.  There  was  nothing  grand  or  imposing 
in  its  exterior.  A  rambling  old  mansion,  gray  and  weather- 
beaten,  resembling  an  old  English  manor ;  its  grounds  were 
extensive  and  picturesquely  laid  out,  abounding  in  shrub- 
beries, trees  and  flowers  of  every  variety,  refreshingly 
adorned  by  fountains,  shooting  up  their  chrystal  spray  and 
gracefully  flowing  over  into  the  basins  below,  cooling  the 
atmosphere  around  and  delighting  the  many  merry-hearted 
birds.  A  large  aquarium  and  aviary,  stocked  with  various 
and  interesting  specimens  of  the  finny  and  feathery  creation, 
stood  on  either  side  of  the  broad,  gray  stone  stairs,  leading 
from  the  spacious  stone  piazza  down  to  the  broad  avenue 
hedged  in  by  thickly  intertwined  evergreens  of  box  and  ivy. 
At  the  south  of  the  house  there  was  a  delightful  summer 
retreat,  a  sort  of  grotto,  quite  deep  below  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  two  flights  of  steps  leading  down  into  it.  An  Indian 
matting  was  upon  the  brick  floor,  pretty  pictures  and  rural 
ornaments  swung  from  the  prettily  papered  walls,  fancy 
Chinese  lanterns  hung  from  the  ceiling,  easy  chairs  and 
dainty  white-robed  lounges  were  arranged  tastefully  about 
it,  tables,  well-stocked  with  books,  magazines,  papers  and 
songs,  and  many  interesting  curiosities,  filled  every  availa- 
ble space,  while  the  presence  of  the  guitar  and  violin  sug- 
gested the  good  old-time  music,  and  on  the  whole,  it  was  a 
most  delightful  and  inviting  spot  ;  a  cool,  cunning  retreat, 
wherein  to  escape  from  the  mid-day  heat  and  spend  a  nice 
time  generally  through  the  long  summer  days.  How  re- 
freshing it  was  to  run  down  there,  away  from  the  bustle 
and  confusion  of  the  house,  to  take  a  quiet  nap  or  to  lounge 
and  read,  indulge  in  some  sweet,  touching  song,  or  else  to 
have  a  pleasant  tete  a-tete  with  some  particular  one,  away 
10 


15° 


TJu  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


from  the  inquisitive  ear  or  eye  of  others.  Many  a  court- 
ship had  gone  on  successfully  within  its  seclusion  with  the 
young  ladies  of  the  family  and  their  lovers  for  generations 
past,  and  gave  promise  to  afford  the  same  to  generations  to 
come.  Yea,  although  not  modern  and  elegant,  Graham 
Hall  was  a  goodly  place  where  one  could  enjoy  a  pleasant, 
jolly  time,  and  knowing  this,  is  it  a  marvel  that  Arthur 
Howard  and  his  sister  were  ever  so  eager  to  pay  this  annual 
summer  visit  i 

With  a  shout  and  enthusiastic  hurrah !  Arthur  sprang 
from  the  carriage  before  it  had  entered  the  gate,  and  Char- 
lotte, with  a  beaming  face  and  gleeful  clap  of  her  little 
hands,  exclaimed : 

"Oh!  Mr.  Montaine!  Iam  so  delighted  that  we  are  here 
at  last.  1  dearly  love  this  old  place  and  wish  mamma  could  be 
induced  to  come  here  to  live,  as  grandpapa  wishes  that  she 
should,  but  she  will  not  consent  to  leave  the  home  to  which 
papa  brought  her  when  a  bride.  I  always  find  enjoyment 
and  fun  for  every  minute  of  each  day  I  stay  and  hope  that 
you  will  do  the  same.'" 

"Thank  you.  Unquestionably  I  shall,  for  its  appearance 
gives  the  promise  of  the  rarest  enjoyment  and  the  most 
wholesome  recreation.*' was  the  smiling  reply,  as  Louis  Mon- 
taine  gallantly  assisted  her  to  alight.  ''And,  Miss  Char- 
lotte." he  went  on  with  a  laugh,  "here  comes  the  welcome 
of  which  you  were  just  now  speaking." 

And  the  cry  of  "Cousin  Lottie  !  Cousin  Lottie  !"  was  now 
heard,  as  three  little  girls  came  bounding  forward  with  wild 
delight.  Without  heeding  the  presence  of  a  stranger  they 
threw  their  arms  about  the  neck  of  the  laughing  Charlotte, 
nearly  smothering  her  by  their  warm,  extravagant  caresses. 

"Mr.  Montaine.  these  are  my  cousins,  Isabel,  Mabel,  and 
Lucy  Reed,"  explained  Charlotte,  as  soon  as  she  had  mana- 
ged t-o  extricate  herself.  UI  trust,  cousins,  that  you  will  all 
endeavor  to  render  Mr.  Montaine's  visit  very  pleasant." 

"Indeed  we  shall  try."  replied  the  eldest,  a  tall  girl  of 
fourteen,  with  jetty  hair  and  eyes.  "Yet,  I  think  that  we 
will,  of  necessity,  have  to  confer  that  pleasant  task  on 


The  Visit  to  Virginia. 


grandfather  and  cousin  Arthur,  for  the  latter  young  gen- 
tleman has  just  informed  me  that  Mr.  Montaine  was  his 
exclusive  company.  But  rest  assured,  Mr.  Montaine,  that 
you  are  very  welcome  to  Graham  Hall,  and  I  hope  that 
you  will  find  your  visit  very  pleasant.'' 

"I  thank  you,  Miss  Reed,  for  your  cordial  welcome,  and 
know  that  I  shall  enjoy  myself  at  such  a  delightful  home. 
Do  not  feel  called  upon  to  amuse  me,  I  intend  to  make 
myself  perfectly  at  home,  and  get  a  full  share  of  fun  and 
enjoyment." 

Arthur  stood  with  his  grandfather  and  aunt,  at  the  open 
door,  and  as  they  came  up  both  received  a  most  hearty, 
whole-souled  welcome.  "I  am  highly  pleased,  and  grati- 
fied, Mr.  Montaine,  to  make  your  acquaintance,'*  said  Mr. 
Graham,  with  a  warm  shake  of  the  hand,  "my  boy  here 
has  often  mentioned  you,  in  his  letters,  and  seems  to  be 
very  fond  of  you,  therefore  I  am  very  decidedly  glad  that 
he  induced  you  to  accompany  him  on  this  visit,  for  I  want 
him  to  be  satisfied,  and  sincerely  trust  that  both  of  you 
will  make  yourselves  at  home,  and  enjoy  this  visit  to  old 
Graham  Hall  thoroughly,  and  scrape  up  all  the  fun  and 
health  from  the  place.  Make  a  noise;  1  like  it,  and  so 
does  Maud,  and  these  little  Tomboys.  And  you,  Miss 
Sunbeam,  turn  in  and  enjoy  yourself.  There  is  a  canoe,  a 
yacht,  fishing  apparatus,  hounds,  horses,  vehicles,  guns, 
books,  music,  sketch  books,  and  a  hundred  spots  of  beauty  ' 
to  sketch  in  them.  Something  to  suit  every  taste  and 
every  palate.  So  go  in  for  it  now,  and  do  not  go  home  and 
say,  I  do  not  know  whether  I  have  enjoyed  myself  or  not. 
I  want  you  to  say  I  just  had  a  splendid  time,  through  and 
through.  -  Go  off  now  to  your  rooms,  and  wash  away  the 
dust  of  South  Carolina,  and  come  down  real  Yirginians, 
with  an  appetite  for  a  Dixie  supper.'' 

Laughing  merrily  at  the  old  gentleman's  jovial  manner 
and  cordial  welcome,  the  visitors  were  led  off,  but  in  less 
than  an  hour  afterward  met  again  at  the  supper  table, 
where  a  delicious,  appetizing  meal  was  spread  out  in  the 
flush  style  of  ''auld  lang  syne,''  and  with  animated  con- 


152 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


versation,  gay  laughter,  and  merry,  good  natured  repartee 
it  was  dispensed,  the  recent  travelers  doing  full  justice  to 
the  tempting  viands  before  them. 

Left  to  themselves  (for  is  careless  youth  ever  tired?)  the 
young  people  would  have  stayed  up  much  later,  but  Mr. 
Graham  insisted  that  they  should  retire  early,  and  before 
ten  they  were  sent  off  to  bed,  after  many  plans  for  the 
morrow's  entertainment  were  laid. 

Louis  and  Arthur  sat  for  a  while  in  the  deep,  old-fash- 
ioned boudoir,  chatting.  "The  outlook  proclaims  enjoy- 
ment,'' the  former  remarked  musingly,  "and  I  am  not  sorry 
that  I  concluded  to  come.  It  is  truly  a  superb  place  and 
delightful  country.  What  magnificent  scenery  in  moon- 
light.   You  are  the  heir  to  this  property,  I  presume  ?" 

"Oh  no,  I  only  wish  that  I  was,  and  then  1  would  not 
have  to  fear  for  the  future  as  I  do  now.  You  know  my 
grandfather  has  two  sons — both  married — with  large  fami- 
lies and  many  sons  in  both  cases.  Then  there  is  Aunt 
Maud,  with  three  fatherless  daughters,  Aunt  Lucy  is  single; 
so  I  do  not  see  any  chance  for  me.  My  mother  had  her 
portion  at  her  marriage ;  60  I  have  no  claim  here.  This 
piece  of  property  descends  to  the  eldest  son;  so  at  grand- 
father's death  it  will  belong  to  Uncle  Charles,  who  is  in 
Europe  now ;  then  at  his  death  his  son  will  become  master. 
,  So  the  only  benefit  which  I  will  derive  from  it  is  a  visit 
here  occasionally.  I  am  one  of  the  lean  kind — poor  a& 
Job's  turkey,  as  the  saying  goes,  through  the  injudicious 
management  of  some  one." 

"  Well,  do  not  let  that  worry  you,  Howard;  I  often  wish 
that  I  was  as  rich  as  what  you  are,  being  blessed  with 
such  inestimable  wealth  as  a  dear  mother  and  sweet,  ami- 
able sister.  What  is  there  in  money,  land  and  houses  that 
can  compensate  one  for  the  loss  of  these?  Ah  !  Arthur,  if 
you  knew  what  it  was  to  be  deprived  of  these  dear  relatives 
you  would  realize  how  far  you  are  blessed  above  me.  I 
am  heir  to  immense  wealth,  but  with  it  all,  I  could  not 
purchase  the  sweet,  disinterested  love  that  is  bestowed  upoji 
you — a  mother's,  aunt's  and  sister's  love — I  would  lavish 


The  Visit  to  Virginia. 


153 


all  I  possess  to  gain  such  a  sister  as  you  have.  Just  to 
think  how  isolated  1  stand — having  neither  father,  mother, 
sister  nor  brother — not  even  an  aunt  or  a  grandparent; 
you  cannot  imagine  how  lonely  I  am  at  times,  and  what 
intense  longings  fill  my  soul  for  some  near,  fond  relative." 

u  Yes,  I  know  that  I  am  blessed  with  dear,  fond  ones, 
Louis,  and  I  do  appreciate  it;  but  sometimes  I  get  dis- 
heartened and  long  for  more  wealth — not  so  much  for 
myself  as  for  those  I  love;  yet  it  never  frets  me  ;  as  long  as 
I  have  my  present  health  and  strength  I  do  not  despair  of 
getting  on  all  right.  But,  Louis,  if  you  are  denied  rela- 
tives you  have  warm,  sincere  friends,  and  in  a  few  years 
will  have  better  than  all — a  wife  and  domestic  bliss,  and 
perhaps  dear  little  ones  to  love  you  for  yourself.'' 

The  deep,  passionate  gray  eyes  flashed  a  sudden  gleam  of 
hope,  then  with  a  doubtful  shake  of  his  head  he  said  sadly, 
44 1  am  not  so  sure  of  that ;  fashionable  wives  do  not  care 
for  domestic  bliss,  and  banish  the  little  ones  off  to  the 
nursery  under  the  care  of  a  hireling ;  but  away  with  this 
morbidness  and  to  bed,  so  as  to  get  a  good  night's  rest,  with 
the  hope  of  a  jolly  time  to-morrow." 

And  the  morrow  came  and  glided  by  delightfully ;  other 
days  came  and  went  on  with  smooth,  swift,  almost  imper- 
ceptible wings  gliding  into  weeks,  and  now  nearly  seven 
weeks  have  fled  into,  the  returnless  past,  and  still  the  visitors 
linger.  It  has  been  one  uninterrupted  holiday  of  the  rarest 
enjoyment  to  these  young  lives ;  exquisitely  but  danger- 
ously so  to  two.  Who  can  paint  through  the  inefficacious 
medium  of  the  pen  the  different  but  always  delightful 
modes  of  pleasure  devised  by  these  summer  idlers  ?  The 
long  drives  through  the  beautiful,  luxurious,  country  ;  the 
morning  rambles  and  the  midway  rest  beneath  some  broad- 
limbed,  shady  tree,  or  else  in  the  summer-house  lounging 
in  cool  linen  and  sacques  and  easy  slippers,  with  pleasant 
objects  around  and  no  outside  jars  to  break  in  upon  this 
day-dream-like  nook ;  sometimes  one  reading  aloud  while 
^he  others  listened,  or  else  chatted  and  laughed  cosily  in 
pairs.   Again  some  would  read  and  others  nap,  the  latter 


154 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


generally  grandfather  and  Arthur,  Aunt  Maud  carrying 
the  little  ones  off  for  a  sleep,  and  Isabel  drawing  or  ab- 
sorbed in  some  thrilling  tale — often,  far  too  often,"  Louis 
Montaine  and  Charlotte  would  be  left  to  amuse  each  other  ; 
then  at  night  out  on  the  broad,  moon-lit  piazza,  grand- 
father playing  the  violin  with  untiring  good  nature,  they 
would  waltz,  polka,  and  sometimes  have  a  genuine  reei. 
And  who  would  be  the  lingerers,  the  last  to  tire  %  As  long 
as  the  indulgent  violinist  would  play  Louis  Montaine,  with 
Charlotte  invariably  as  his  partner,  would  waltz  and  polka 
up  and  down  the  long,  broad  piazza  with  his  arm  thrown 
about  her,  his  handsome  head  bent  forward  as,  with  smiling 
lip  and  bright  eyes,  he  would  listen  to  her  merry,  ringing 
voice,  or  else  chat  gaily  into  her  pleased  ear,  quite  oblivi- 
ous to  those  around. 

Grandfather,  Aunt  Maud,  and  even  quiet  Isabel,  looked 
on,  and  not  understanding  how  matters  stood'  cast  signifi- 
cant glances  at  each  other ;  and  the  brother  he  saw,  looked 
on,  and  pondered,  at  times  a  wild  wish  springing  up  in  his 
heart,  if  it  could  only  be  so  that  Louis  Montaine  was  free 
to  love  and  woo  his  darling  little  sister ;  then  casting  such  a 
thought  aside  he  would  worry  and  trouble  for  his  sister's 
happiness.  What  if  she  should  love  him?  she  was  so 
young,  he  so  handsome  and  fascinating,  perhaps  he  had 
done  wrong  in  bringing  them  thus  together.  Again  and 
again  he  determined  to  warn  her,  but  on  second  thought 
put  it  off,  thinking,  oh  !  it  cannot  mean  any  harm  ;  Louis 
knows  what  he  is  about  and  surely  Lottie  will  have  better 
sense  than  to  bestow  her  affection  where  it  is  not  wanted. 

And  so  the  time  had  sped  on  delightfully  enough  to 
some,  if  not  wholly  so  to  the  brother,  who  secretly  could 
not  help  feeling  a  little  uneasy  at  times  to  stand  by  and 
witness  the  marked  attentions  bestowed  upon  his  young 
sister,  by  one  whom  he  felt  was  not  privileged  to  do  so  on 
account  of  his  engagement  to  his  cousin. 

It  was  a  delicious  afternoon  in  the  latter  part  of  Septem- 
ber, and  the  time  of  their  return  was  rapidly  approaching. 
The  weather  was  cool,  the  atmosphere  balmy  and  delight- 


• 


The  Visit  to  Virginia.  .  155 

ful,  freighted  with  the  sweet  perfume  of  the  many  flowers 
that  bloomed  about  Graham  Hall.  Charlotte  and  Isabel 
were  in  the  summer-house  resting,  after  quite  a  fatiguing 
morning's  jaunt  out  into  the  country,  and  a  farewell  call  to 
a  distant  neighbor  ;  the  latter,  comfortable  ensconced  in  a 
large  rocker,  was  reading  a  freshly  cut  magazine,  while  the 
former,  seated  at  a  table,  was  idly  and  rather  restlessly  turn- 
ing the  leaves  of  a  large  sketch  book,  her  thoughts  seem- 
ingly away  from  her  occupation.  As  she  sat  there  she 
looked  very  pretty,  the  perfect  embodiment  of  health  and 
youthful  grace.  The  large,  soft,  hazel  eyes,  clear  sparkling, 
animated  ;  her  complexion  pure,  the  warm  Southern  blood 
glowing  with  a  warm  heat  in  the  well  rounded  cheek  and 
full  ripe  lips.  Attired  in  a  becomingly  made  dress  of  faint 
blue  lawn,  her  sunny  hair  clustering  in  newly  curled  ring- 
lets overy  the  snowy,  plump  neck,  she  looked,  if  not  strict- 
ly beautiful,  a  very  rare,  sweet  and  lovable  girl.  Presently 
a  soft  flush  overspreads  the  bright  face,  the  cherry  mouth 
parts  in  a  smile,  disclosing  the  pearliest  of  teeth,  as  her  eyes 
fall  upon  some  sketch  seemingly  pleasing  to  her  recollec- 
tion. There  is  a  pause  now  in  the  hitherto  impetuous  in- 
difference with  which  she  had  been  turning  the  leaves,  and 
she  leans  over  it  full  of  a  pleased,  dreamy  curiosity,  the 
smile  and  flush  still  lingering. 

Suddenly  a  deeper  flush  diffused  itself  over  cheek 
and  brow,  and,  bending  her  head  lower,  she  hurriedly 
turns  the  pleasing  leaf  of  the  book.  A  clear,  musical  whistle 
had  fallen  upon  her  ear,  and  the  next  moment,  with  a  merry 
laugh,  Louis  Montaine  springs  lightly  down  the  stairs,  ex- 
claiming : 

u  I  was  correct  in  supposing  that  I  would  find  some  one 
down  here,  and  the  very  one  I  wanted,  too,"  he  added,  in 
an  aside  to  Charlotte,  as  he  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  table 
where  she  was  sitting,  and  continued,  "  Arthur  has  settled 
himself  in  the  hammock  for  a  nap,  inviting  me  to  do  the 
same,  but  that  is  something  I  can  never  do — sleep  away  a 
p#rt  of  the  day — so  feeling  lonesome,  and  having  nothing 
particular  to  turn  my  attention  to,  I  have  come  on  a  hunt 


1 56 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


to  find  some  one  with  whom  to  talk.  So.  am  I  welcome 
here,  young  ladies  ?  " 

"lean  not  stay  to  welcome  von.  Mr.  Montaine."  said 
Isabel,  rising,  "for  I  have  just  remembered  that  I  have  a 
duty  to  perform  before  tea  :  Lottie  will,  I  know.  There  is 
some  very  racy  matter  in  this  magazine,  perhaps  yon  would 
like  to  look  over  it,''  and  placing  it  on  the  table  as  she 
spoke,  she  ran  up  the  stairs,  throwing  back  a  mischievous, 
significant  glance  at  her  cousin. 

u  Well,  and  I  am  welcomed  by  you.  Miss  Lottie  \  " 

u  Certainly,  Mr.  Montaine,  you  are  very  welcome.  I 
was  just  wishing  for  some  company,  for  Belle  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  talk,  and  I  did  not  feel  inclined  to  read.v 

"lam  glad  I  sought  you  out  then,  for  I  have  a  matter  of 
some  importance  to  decide,  and  want  your  opinion  upon 
the  subject.  I  received  a  letter  last  night,  the  first  in  the 
last  six  weeks,  from  my  cousin,  Irene.  It  seems  that  she 
has  been  quite  ill,  but  is  now  convalescent.  The  physician 
has  ordered  that  she  must  leave  the  city  at  once.  So  she 
writes  to  say  that  she  will  come  up  and  spend  a  while  at 

S  .  and  that  I  must  make  arrangements  at  some  hotel 

or  boarding  house  for  her  accommodation,  and  then  come 
down  to  C  and  escort  her  thither.  That  is  her  com- 
mand. But.  thinking  it  over  all  day.  I  am  yet  undecided 
how  to  act.  She  writes  that  the  city  is  very  unhealthy  this 
summer,  and  that  it  is  reported  that  the  yellow  fever  has 
made  its  appearance  in  some  portions  of  it,  which  makes 
her  so  anxious  to  get  away.  But,  do  you  not  think  it  would 
be  highly  imprudent  for  me  to  risk  my  health  by  doing  as 
she  wishes  !  I  think  it  would  be  very  dangerous  for  me 
to  leave  this  pure,  healthy  atmosphere,  and  enter  so  sud- 
denly into  a  vitiated  one ;  but  I  do  not  know  how  to  act. 
Can  not  you  decide  it  for  me  \  " 

Charlotte  Howard  sat  still  as  he  spoke,  the  warm  color 
fading  from  her  face  perceptibly,  and  now  said,  laugh- 
ing— but  it  seemed  a  forced  laugh  : 

"  I  would  rather  not  take  the  responsibility  of  deciding 
for  you,  Mr.  Montaine.    Certainly  I  can  not  but  say  that  I 


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157 


think  it  would  be  very  imprudent  for  any  one  to  visit  a 
sickly  city  this  time  of  the  year ;  but  do  not  let  me  influ- 
ence you  one  way  or  the  other.  You  had  better  decide  the 
question  for  yourself." 

"  My  inference  is  that  you  think  I  had  better  not  go. 
Now,  am  I  not  correct  ?  " 

"  Now,  Mr.  Montaine,  I  did  not  tell  you  that  you  had 
better  not  go,  but  that  you  had  better  decide  for  yourself," 
was  the  laughing  contradiction. 

"  But,  Miss  Charlotte,  I  would  rather  not  go.  I  know 
yon  must  think  it  very  strange  of  me  to  be  so  loth  in  visit- 
ing my  native  city  and  such  an  interesting  personage  as  a 
man's  betrothed  wife  should  be.  But,  making  you  a  confi- 
dante, I  will  tell  you  my  reason  why  I  object  to  going.  Mr. 
Burgoyne  is  in  Charleston,  and  although  he  is  'Rene's 
father,  he  can  never  be  a  friend  of  mine,  so  1  do  not  care 
to  meet  him ;  and  an  I  intend  to  keep  out  of  his  way  as 

long  as  possible,  I  would  rather  not  visit  C  just  now. 

So  will  you  not  welcome  me  here  a  few  days  longer  %  " 

Charlotte  looked  surprised,  but  the  voice  was  low  and 
•sweet  that  said  :  "Why,  certainly,  Mr.  Montaine,  we  will 
welcome  you  as  long  as  you  are  willing  to  stay,  and  I  know 
that  Arthur  would  not  allow  you  to  go  until  the  end  of  the 
visit,  for  it  would  be  a  great  break  and  damper  to  our  last 
days  of  pleasure  to  have  our  party  broken;  but  I  hope  that 
you  will  not  let  what  I  say  influence  you  in  any  way,  for  I 
do  not  want  to  be  blamed." 

"  Certainly  not,"  was  the  laughing  response.  "  I  do  not 
want  to  go,  so  can  only  blame  myself  ;  but  do  not  say  any 
more  about  it.  I  will  remain  the  allotted  time,  although  it 
may  occasion  a  quarrel  between  'Rene  and  myself.  It  is  a 
great  deal  pleasanter  here.  Come,  let  us  look  over  some  of 
these  sketches  and  recall  the  delightful  hours  we  have  spent 
during  the  past  delicious  weeks.  Ah !  me,  what  a  pity 
that  they  are  drawing  to  a  close." 

Drawing  his  chair  nearer,  he  reopened  the  book  which 
Charlotte  had  been  looking  over  just  before  his  entrance, 
and  began  to  turn  to  the  different  pencil  sketches  it  con- 


i5S 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


tained,  and  with  which  these  two  had  principally  filled  it 
while  out  on  their  rambles,  drives  and  sails,  laughing  over 
some,  calling  to  remembrance  some  little  pleasantry  of  oth- 
ers, or  conversing  on  the  loveliness  which  the  several  pic- 
tures portrayed,  they  were  very  agreeably  whiling  away  the 
time,  until  coming  to  one,  an  elaborate  pencil  sketch  of  a 
romantic  and  most  beautiful  dell,  when  he  said,  with  a  sud- 
den flush  and  shy  glance  into  his  companion's  face:  "Do 
you  remember  the  afternoon  and  this  lovely  little  dell  I 
sketched  on  this  leaf,  Miss  Lottie  ?" 

The  eyes  of  the  girl  drooped,  and  with  a  deepening  color 
she  replied,  very  lowly  :  "Yes,  I  remember  it  with  regret, 
and  you  should  with  shame  for  yourself.'' 

"I  should  i  Well,  I  do  not,"" he  replied,  a  hotter  flush 
mounting  his  brow,  and  a  strange,  passionate  light  gleaming 
from  the  dark,  gray  eyes  that  now  rested  almost  defiantly 
upon  the  blushing  face  of  the  fair  girl.  "You  might  think 
that  I  felt  and  acted  wrong,  dishonorably,"  he  went  on 
passionately,  "but  i  could  not  help  it.  Miss  Lottie.  I  am 
human,  a  lonely  human  being  craving  a  pure,  true,  honest 
heart  to  love  and  to  love  me,  and  because  I  offered  you  a- 
slight  caress,  asked  the  boon  of  a  kiss,  did  1  act  so  terribly 
dishonorable  that  I  should  recall  it  with  shame  ?  Well,  if 
you  think  so.  I  do  not.  for  it  was  nothing  premeditated.  I 
simply  could  not  help  it  ;  my  true  feelings  asserted  their 
rights.  A  little  piece  of  human  weakness  you  deem  it,  I 
suppose,  and  I  should  recall  it  with  shame.  I  might  just 
as  well  blame  you  for  being  so  sweet,  so  enchanting,  to  fire 
my  heart  to  what  you  blame  me  for  doing.  I  could  not 
help  it,  and  therefore  should  not  be  held  accountable  for 
what  I  said  and  did  no  more  than  you  could  help  tempting  me 
by  your  sweetness  and  attractiveness.  I  forgot  every  thing 
at  that  moment  but  the  one  fact  that  I  loved  you,  and  I 
will  tell  you  so  again,  whether  you  like  to  hear  it  or  not.  I 
love  you,  Charlotte  Howard,  and  would  to  God  that  I  had 
not  been  such  a  blind  fool  as  to  fetter  myself  to  one  that  can 
never  fill  the  longings  of  my  soul  and  make  me  happy! 
Yes.  I  know  you  think  me  a  monster,  but  why  did  you 
make  me  love  you  ?" 


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159 


"Stop,  Mr.  Montaine,  please,  you  must  not  talk  thus," 
and  Charlotte  Howard,  deathly  pale  and  trembling  in  every 
fibre,  shrank  away  from  him,  speaking  in  a  tone  she  vainly 
strove  to  make  calm,  "remember,  yourself;  this  is  not 
right,  and  can  do  no  good  ;  I  am  very  sorry,  but  am  sure 
that  I  did  not  try  to  take  your  allegiance  from  where  it  is 
due.  I  never  dreamed  that  there  would  be  any  trouble 
between  ue ;  I  liked  you  so  much,  and  felt  wre  were  such 
good  friends.  I  am  still  your  friend,  but  you  must  keep 
within  the  bounds  of  that  friendship,  or  else  we  must  not 
meet  again  as  of  old.  Oh!  I  am  so  sorry  that  this  has  hap- 
pened.   It  has  all  been  so  pleasant." 

He  had  paced  the  room  agitatedly  as  she  spoke ;  but 
now,  as  she  broke  down,  he  stood  by  her  again.  She  lifted 
her  eyes,  humid  with  pity,  regret,  love  and  affright,  all 
mingled  ;  they  met,  and  fell  in  confusion  under  his  pas- 
sionate gaze,  and,  with  a  burning  blush  diffusing  itself  over 
her  face,  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.  One  instant 
the  young  man  hesitated,  pale,  but  with  a  strange  light  in 
his  intense  eyes,  then  stooping  down,  he  drew  the  weeping, 
resisting  girl  to  his  heart  in  a  wild,  passionate  embrace, 
murmuring  :  "  Charlotte,  my  only  darling,  forgive  me,  but 
God  only  knows  how  truly  and  strongly  I  love  you!  I 
thought  I  loved  'Rene  Burgoyne,  but  I  know  now  that  I 
never  did.  She  only  bewitched  me  by  her  great  beauty 
and  subtle  fascinations ;  for  I  know  now  that  my  heart 
was  untouched  until  you  stole  it  from  me.  Tell  me,  Char- 
lotte Howard,  that  you  do  not  hate  and  scorn,  but  that  you 
love  me,  unworthy  as  I  am." 

Still  weeping,  the  girl  struggled  to  free  herself,  but  hold- 
ing her  close  he  continued,  in  a  hoarse,  intense  whisper,  "I 
can  not,  will  not  free  you,  until  you  satisfy  me  one  way  or 
the  other.  Do  you  love  or  do  you  scorn  me?  But  by  all 
that  you  hold  dear,  Charlotte  Howard,  speak  truly!" 

"I  scorn  you  !"  she  cried,  now  bursting  from  his  relaxed 
hold,  and  without  casting  another  glance  at  him,  the  be- 
wildered but  thoroughly  wretched  girl  ran  up  the  stairs, 
escaping  unseen  to  her  room,  where,  with  a  wild  passion  of 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


grief,  she  threw  herself  on  the  bed,  moaning  in.  accents  of 
bitter  agony  :  <;I  have  told  a  lie,  a  falsehood,  black  and 
shameful,  for  I  do  not  scorn  but  love  him,  wildly,  passion- 
ately, strongly  love  him,  and  he  says  that  he  loves  me. 
What  a  heaven  of  happiness  those  words  mean!  Yet  I  drove 
him  away  with  a  lie,  and  now  only  a  yawning  gulf  of  mis- 
ery is  before  me  ;  but  dear  Lord,  forgive  mu,  I  did  not  dare 
to  tell  him  the  truth.  Pardon  the  lie.  dear  Jesus,  and  give 
me  strength  to  bear  this  heavy  trial.  I  love  him  so  dearly, 
and  he  says  that  he  loves  me,  and  yet  there  is  an  impass- 
able gulf  between  us." 

Fresh  sobs  convulsed  the  troubled  girl,  as  she  thus 
moaned  out  her  sorrow  to  the  unsympathizing,  inanimate 
objects  around.  The  excessive  grief,  so  new  to  her  hitherto 
sunlit  life,  made  her  quite  sick,  and  she  did  not  go  down 
to  supper. 

Poor,  bright,  sweet  Lottie  Howard  !  The  exquisitely 
happy  dream  of  the  past  seven  weeks  has  fled  forever,  and 
in  a  hopeless,  painful  despair  she  passes  the  lonely,  sleepless 
hours  of  the  night,  striving  to  quiet  the  aching  pain  at  her 
heart,  and  smother  down  the  wild  longings  and  poignant 
regret  throbbing  within  her  breast,  but  most  of  all,  sorrow- 
ing for  him  whom  she  had  so  rudely  and  falsely  repulsed. 
The  bright  dream  that  had  hovered  over  her  life  faded  with 
a  sudden  waft  into  the  stern,  bitter  reality  of  the  fact,  and 
like  one  waking  from  a  delicious  dream,  she  knows  now 
that  this  was  but  a  dream.  She  has  been  asleep,  but  that 
sweet  oblivion  to  reality  is  over.  Bitter  tears  wet  her  pil- 
low, while  stifled  sob&  convulsively  surged  up  from  her 
sorrowing  young  heart,  blighted  in  its  first  youthful  hopes 
and  sweet  emotions. 

"And  I  must  hide  it  from  human  eyes,  bear  its  bitterness 
alone,"  she  cried,  burying  her  face  in  her  pillow  as  though 
to  shut  out  the  painful  thought,  and  woo  sleep  to  the 
throbbing  brain  and  aching  heart.  But  all  in  vain  ;  the 
gray  dawn  of  the  next  day  found  her  sti1!  awake,  and  with 
a  stifled  sob  and  shuddering  sigh,  she  sprang  from  the  bed  to 
begin  her  future  life's  work ;  to  live  out  the  lie  she  had 


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i6r 


littered  ;  to  suffer  alone,  hiding  from  mortal  eye  the  gnaw- 
ing pain  at  her  heart,  and  appear  happy  and  bright,  while 
within  all  was  pain  and  gloom. 

Scarcely  had  she  donned  her  clothes,  and  as  she  was  try- 
ing to  wash  the  traces  of  sorrow  away  from  her  face,  her 
brother  called  her  from  the  door :  "Here,  Lottie,  take  this; 
I  am  off  on  a  deer-hunt  to-day.  Louis  seems  to  have  had 
a  very  sudden  call  home,  for  he  left  last  night  on  the  mid- 
night train,  and  begged  that  1  would  give  you  this  note. 
It  looks  funny,  Lottie,  that  he  has  to  seal  his  good-bye  to 
you  thus  securely  ;  better  mind  what  you  are  about;"  and 
with  this  untimely  warning  the  brother  left,  saying  that  he 
would  not  be  back  until  night. 

Still  and  pale  the  girl  had  received  the  note  of  farewell 
from  her  brother's  hand,  and  locking  the  door  she  sat  down 
to  read  it.  With  nervous  fingers  she  broke  the  seal,  and 
with  feelings  difficult  to  describe  read  its  contents.  Oth- 
ers that  may  have  some  time  through  their  life  experienced 
a  blighted  happiness  and  seen  the  banishment  of  some 
dreamy,  delicious  hope  waft  away  from  your  vision  like  a 
vapory  mist  before  the  glare  of  the  sun,  might  understand 
the  moan  of  pain  that  came  up  from  the  rent  heart  after 
perusing  the  following : 

Dear  Miss  Charlotte — Sweet,  bright  girl,  can  you  forgive  my  con- 
duct this  afternoon  ?  I  know  that  I  merited  your  scorn,  but  I  was  mad 
and  forgot  to  hold  to  my  intention,  for  I  never  intended  to  have  let  you 
known  how  passionately  I  loved  you.  A  true,  deep,  enduring  love  you 
have  won  from  me  by  your  sweet,  guileless,  affectionate  ways,  your  free, 
merry  laugh,  sunny  smile  and  ever  kindly,  true  words.  Although  I  have 
no  right  to  say  it,  again  and  for  the  last  time,  I  repeat  that  1  love  you 
only,  and  if  I  was  only  free  to  woo,  nothing  would  stand  in  my  way  but 
that  I  would  win  you  for  my  bride,  or  die  in  the  struggle.  Knowing 
this,  will  you  not  forgive  and  try  to  forget  my  seemingly  rude  conduct, 
and  meet  me  a  few  days  hence  as  friendly  as  of  yore  ?  And  I  promise  to 
try  never  to  repeat  the  offense  again,  by  word  or  look.  These  halcyon 
weeks  have  been  very  sweet ;  but  at  those  stinging  words,  "I  scorn  you!" 
I  have,  alas!  awakened  to  my  true  position.  As  the  betrothed  husband 
of  another,  how  could  I  help  receiving  the  scorn  of  one  so  true,  loyal  and 
conscientious  as  yourself  ?  I  can  blame  no  one  but  myself  for  being  thus 
fettered  by  irksome,  galling  chains.  I  have  awakened,  when  too  late,  to 
the  misery  of  knowing  that  I  am  the  plighted  husband  to  a  girl  that  I  do 
not  and  can  never  love  truly,  honestly.  I  was  led,  heart-blinded,  to  the 
belief  that  I  loved  her  by  her  great  personal  beauty  and  beguiling  fasci- 


162 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


nations,  but  it  is  too  late  to  bewail  it  now.  Your  scorn  is  my  bitter 
punisbment.  I  bave  been  disloyal  to  my  promised  vows,  but  will  en- 
deavor to  be  true  to  myself  henceforth  by  being  true  to  the  girl  that  is 
my  promised  bride.  Happiness  is  banished  from  my  life  forever,  but, 
Miss  Charlotte,  forgive  and  keep  my  folly,  my  weakness  inviolably,  and 
let  me  beg  you  to  assist  me  to  keep  ray  resolve,  and  if  by  word  or  look  I 
swerve,  by  coldness  and  the  scorn  you  feel,  drive  me  back  to  my  duty,  my 
honor  and  fidelity.  I  leave  at  once  a  place  that  has  been  too  deliciously 
sweet  but  disastrously  dangerous  to  my  dream  of  happiness.  So,  sweet 
girl,  farewell  for  a  season,  and  do  not  meet  me  with  a  look  of  scorn  in 
those  bonny  eyes  that,  alas,  I  have  learned  to  love  too  well,  and  give  me 
your  trust  and  friendship,  if  nothing  more  can  ever  be  mine. 

Despairingly  yours,  L.  E,.  Montaine. 

With  a  calin,  cold  despair  this  hitherto  careless  child 
read  these  lines,  then  folding  it  up  she  put  it  away  among 
the  collection  of  souvenirs  of  this  brightly,  joyously  begun 
but  sadly  blighted  visit,  then  sitting  down  wearily  she  bur- 
ied her  face  in  her  hands,  and  there  she  sat,  motionless  and 
silent,  a  keen  agony  settling  around  her  heart,  driving  out 
all  the  warmth  and  joy  and  making  all  life  and  nature  joy- 
less and  dreary. 

After  a  little  while  she  arose  and  bravely,  determinedly 
crushing  back  the  bitter  misery  of  her  soul,  went  on  prepar- 
ing to  go  down  to  breakfast.  Clasping  her  little  hands  to- 
gether she  raised  her  pained  eyes  toward  Heaven,  and  kneel- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  bed  besought  aid,  strength  and  com- 
fort from  the  great  God,  through  her  loving,  pitying  Sav- 
ior; then,  with  the  usual  smile  forced  over  the  sunny  face, 
she  appeared  at  the  table  her  very  self.  And  thus  bravely 
begun,  her  new  life  was  hid  so  securely  within  her  own 
breast  that  no  one  but  the  all-seeing  eye  of  God  knew  of 
the  terrible  change  that  had  taken  place  within  her  heart. 
Four  days  later  the  brother  and  sister  left  for  home,  more 
than  satisfied  with  their  visit,  and  doubtless  both  wishing 
that  it  had  ended  more  happily,  for  although  unable  to  get 
any  satisfaction  from  his  sister,  Arthur  Howard  knew  that 
the  sudden  departure  of  Louis  Montaine  had  affected  her 
happiness,  and  with  a  throb  of  pain  he  suspected  that  his 
young  sister  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  winning,  fascinating 
Louis  Montaine. 

During  those  days,  full  of  the  bustle  of  farewell  jaunts 


The  Visit  to  Virginia. 


163 


packing  and  leave-takings,  Charlotte  seemed  outwardly  the 
iiame  merry  girl  that  had  come,  a  very  sunbeam,  among 
them  a  few  weeks  before,but  the  restless  eye,  the  often  deep- 
drawn  sigh,  and  the  fits  and  starts  of  merriment,  told  more 
than  words  and  gloom  would  have  done  to  the  brother  that 
his  darling  young  sister's  soul  was  burdened  with  some  se- 
cret but  keen  anguish,  the  agony  of  a  hopeless  love,  he 
felt  sure,  and  a  care  of  which  he  had  never  dreamed  as  the 
result  of  this  joyously  anticipated  visit,  weighed  heavily  on 
his  usually  gay,  light  spirit. 

"Here  we  are,  Lottie,  and  I  am  glad  to  get  back  home 
again.  Now  for  kissing  and  hugging !  See  who  will  get 
the  first  from  mamma  and  Aunt  Lucy !  You  may,  if  I  can 
from  some  one  else." 

Charlotte  smiled  brightly,  but  oh !  what  a  wild  throb  and 
sickening  pain  seized  her  heart  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  one 
she  had  not  expected  to  see  there,  and  who  she  thought 
would  be  visiting  his  betrothed. 

Louis  Montaine  and  Harry  Bentley  stood  at  the  depot 
awaiting  their  arrival,  the  latter  coming  forward  very 
eagerly,  as  though  they  had  been  separated  for  years,  his 
glance  lingering  long  and  tenderly  on  her,  whose  face  alone 
had  the  power  to  make  the  quiet,  placid  heart  pulsate  with 
a  quicker  throb,  and  cause  a  glow  to  come  to  the  pale,  calm 
face. 

"  Louis  and  Arthur  have  received  all  the  benefit  from 
the  Virginia  climate,  Miss  Lottie.  You  do  not  look  as  well 
as  when  you  left.'' 

"You  cannot  judge  yet,  Harry,''  she  replied,  with  a  laugh 
and  sudden  flush.  "I  am  very  much  fatigued  from  the 
long  travel.  Wait  until  to-morrow,  and  then  pass  your 
opinion." 

Louis  Montaine  held  out  his  hand,  a  slight  confusion  was 
perceptible  in  his  manner,  a  blush  burned  upon  his  cheek,  as 
with  a  quick,  searching  glance  he  looked  into  her  face. 
Quietly,  but  turning  a  shade  paler,  she  put  her  hand  into 
his  without  raising  her  eyes.    It  was  held  one  moment  in  a 


164 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


firm,  close  pressure,  then  releasing  it,  he  turned  hastily 
away,  leaving  the  gratified  Harry  to  assist  her  into  the  car- 
riage. He  sprang  in  after  her  with  Arthur,  and  during  the 
short  drive  home  chatted  and  laughed  as  gaily  as  of  yore, 
his  behavior  completely  disarming  any  suspicions  the 
brother  had  felt,  and  making  the  seemingly  gay  Charlotte 
rather  uncomfortable,  with  a  rising  doubt  as  to  the  sincerity 
of  his  avowal  to  her  a  few  days  before. 

That  night  when  alone,  after  the  joy  of  meeting  her 
loved  ones  had  subsided,  the  pain  came  back  with  redoubled 
intensity  ;  keener,  perhaps,  because  of  the  thought  that  he 
might  not  care  for  her  as  she  had  believed  from  his  passion- 
ate words  and  ardent  manner.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
Louis  Montaine  had  been  trying  to  flirt  with  her  \  The 
thought  caused  the  deep  blush  to  burn  in  her  cheek,  her 
eye  to  flash  with  a  gleam  unused  to  its  soft,  kindly,  gentle 
lustre,  and  for  the  moment  she  felt  glad  of  her  treatment 
of  his  advance ;  but  the  feeling  was  only  momentary. 
She  thought  of  her  own  shamming,  and  could  not  think  ill 
of  one  in  whom  she  had  only  seen  goodness,  earnestness 
and  truth.  Long  that  night  Charlotte  sat  in  her  little  room 
thinking  over  the  past  few  weeks  and  the  duty  of  her 
future  life.  Florence  had  whispered  to  her,  on  parting  a 
few  minutes  ago,  that  Irene  Burgoyne  was  at  the  hotel, 
having  arrived  the  day  before,  and  now,  thinking  of  this 
trial  that  was  before  her,  she  felt  too  weak  to  battle  against 
it  unaided,  and  with  her  usual  childlike  simplicity  and 
trust  in  God,  she  now  kneels  at  His  throne  imploring  for 
strength  to  cast  out  this  hopeless  love  from  her  heart. 

"  Please,  dear  Lord,  give  me  the  power  to  cast  out 
this  love,  and  the  strength  to  meet  her  and  see  them  to- 
gether without  sinning.  Please,  merciful,  pitying  Father, 
help  me  to  do  right,  and  make  me  happy  again,  and,  like 
Aunt  Lucy,  I  will  devote  my  life  to  the  good  of  others." 

Dear,  trusting  child  of  faith,  thy  prayer  1-  heard  and 
registered  in  Heaven,  and  in  His  good  time,  it  shall  be 
answered.  Thy  bleeding  heart  asks  not  for  revenge ;  no 
bitterness  or  evil  lurks  in  thy  heart  against  the  one  you 


The  Visit  to  Virginia. 


I6S 


deem  allotted  to  the  portion  that  you  feel  would  be  bliss. 
No,  but  with  a  resigned  will  you  yield  to  her  superior 
claims,  and  only  plead  for  strength  to  see  them  happy  to- 
gether, without  causing  you  to  sin.  You  ask  for  power  to 
give  him  up  to  her,  and  to  learn  you  to  sacrifice  a  woman's 
holiest,  dearest  rights  for  the  good  of  others. 

The  heart  that  has  learned  to  love  at  one  shrine,  she 
feels  it  impossible  to  transfer  to  another,  and  her  pure,  open 
nature  would  shrink  from  giving  that  heart,  emptied  of  its 
richest  treasure,  to  one  who  might  love  and  cherish  her 
fondly,  but  yet  would  lack  happiness  in  not  possessing  the 
love  of  his  wife.  "No,  no,  I  will  remain  .Charlotte  Howard 
until  life's  end,"  is  her  mental  decision,  "before  I  would  per- 
jure my  soul  at  God's  altar,  for  I  can  not,  can  not  ever  love 
another." 

Ah !  well  for  us  is  it  that  we  cannot  lift  off  the  veil  of 
futurity  and  know  what  is  laid  out  in  store  for  us — that  we 
can  not  see  the  furnace  that  is  to  cleanse  the  dross  from  the 
pure,  true  metal. 

With  a  balm  from  her  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer, 
Charlotte  Howard,  no  longer  a  child,  but  a  suddenly  ma- 
tured woman,  rose  from  her  knees  and  retired  to  rest. 
Exhausted  nature  gave  away,  and  soon  sleep  closes  the 
weary  eyes  and  steals  the  troubled  consciousness  away  to 
unrealistic  visions,  until  the  dawn  of  another  day  comes  all 
too  soon,  bringing  her  back  to  reality,  to  begin  a  sterner  life, 
to  wage  a  hard  warfare.  But  will  she  come  off  victorious  ? 
We  will  let  the  future  answer  that. 
11 


MRS.  HAYES. 


he  next  morning  Airs.  Bentley  and  Masie  had  called 
upon  the  young  stranger,  but  not  being  accustomed 
to  receive  visitors  at  the  un fashionably  early  hour  of 
ten,  she  had  to  be  excused,  as  she  was  in  deshabille  and  had 
not  breakfasted  yet. 

"Who  would  think  of  any  one  calling  at  such  an  early 
hour,''  was  the  spiteful  remark  of  the  yonng  lady,  as  she 
threw  the  cards  aside,  "but  it  is  just  my  luck,  they  will  tell 
Louis  that  I  would  nofr  see  them,  or  something  worse,  per- 
haps, and  I  promised  him  last  night  to  make  a  favorable 
impression, n  and  in  great  chagrin  Irene  Bur^oyne  sum- 
moned  her  maid  and  began  an  elaborate  toilet. 

"Why  could  they  not  have  waited  until  now."  was  her 
mental  comment,  as  she  seated  herself  in  the  parlor,  be- 
tween twelve  and  one.  "but  I  presume  they  will  not  call 
again  this  morning,  so  I  might  as  well  settle  myself  to  read. 
Oh !  it  is  terribly  dull  up  here,"  and  acting  upon  the  latter 
conclusion,  she  took  out  a  magazine,  and  making  herself 
stylishly  comfortable,  began  a  story  to  while  away  the  lone- 
ly, idle  hours.  The  entrancing  tale  soon  engaged  her  wan- 
dering thoughts,  and  her  four  o'clock  dinner  was  brought 
up  before  she  laid  ii  aside.  For  the  next  hour  she  wandered 
aimlessly  about,  looking  out  of  the  window  on  the  quiet 
street  with  its  few  pedestrians  and  fewer  vehicles,  striking 
a  few  notes  upon  the  open  piano,  talking  with  her  canary, 
or  else  frolicking  aimlessly  with  her  pink-eyed  poodle, 
glancing  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  arranging  her  curls,  ad- 
justing her  jewelry,  and  putting  a  few  more  touches  to  her 
already  rich  toilet. 

"  Oh !  I  hope  that  Louis  will  come  this  evening :  it  is  so 
dull,'7  she  sighs,  going  the  seventh  time  to  the  window. 


Airs.  Hayes. 


I67 


This  time  more  life  is  seen,  the  street  being  enlivened  by 
many  promenaders  and  equestrians,  and  the  lip  of  the  fas- 
tidious beauty  curls  scornfully  as  she  notices  the  almost 
universal  plain,  unpretending  attire  of  the  ladies  and  misses. 
Suddenly  a  flush  overspreads  her  face,  and  her  eye  lights 
with  .interest  as  she  gazes  searchingly  for  the  loved  and 
familiar  form  of  her  cousin  among  a  group  of  some 
twenty  students,  who,  laughing,  whistling  and  hurrahing, 
came  in  sight ;  but  he  is  not  one,  and  she  watches  them  go 
by,  happy  in  their  innocent  but  rather  boisterous  mirth, 
with  bitterness  in  her  heart,  complaint  on  her  tongue,  for 
she  turns  away  murmuring :  "  And  my  elegant,  refined, 
gentlemanly  Louis  has  to  associate  with  those  rowdies  ! 
What  ever  possessed  Uncle  Edwin  to  send  his  son  to  this 
country  college?  I  noticed  that  he  is  not  near  so  polished 
and  gentle  as  when  he  came  up  here,  and  it  is  nothing  but 
sheer  contrariness  in  Louis  when  he  says  that  he  likes  it, 
and  has  a  pleasant,  happy  home." 

Seating  herself  at  the  piano,  she  tried  to  drown  her 
chagrin  in  a  gay,  spirited  song,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  satisfy 
her,  and  rising,  she  was  in  the  act  of  going  back  to  her 
solace,  novel  reading,  when  a  knock  at  the  door  broke  in 
upon  the  monotony  very  agreeably,  it  seemed,  for  she  threw 
the  book  aside  and  eagerly  ran  to  the  summons,  and  with 
evident  pleasure  received  the  cards  sent  up.  "'Florence 
M.  Bentley,'  '  Charlotte  Howard,' "  read  the  young  lady. 

"Ask  the  ladies  to  walk  up,  Sylvy,  and  show  them  in  my 
private  parlor,"  was  the  command,  as  she  ran  into  her 
chamber.  Surveying  herself  in  the  mirror,  she  saturated 
her  lace  handkerchief  with  cologne,  and  arranging  her  dress, 
she,  with  evident  satisfaction  at  her  appearance,  gracefully 
entered  her  parlor  just  as  the  two  girls  were  shown  in. 

Florence  Bentley  looked  shy  and  timid  as  she  gazed  upon 
the  tall,  queenly  girl,  so  stylishly  arrayed  in  rustling  silk 
and  glittering  jewels,  and  perfumed  with  sweet  foreign 
odors ;  but  with  her  characteristic  ease  and  pleasing  self- 
possession,  Charlotte  advanced,  and  cordially  extending  her 
hand,  said : 


i68 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"Hearing  of  your  recent  arrival  in  our  town,  Miss  Bur- 
goyne,  nay  dear  friend,  Florence  Bentley,"  with  a  graceful 
inclination  of  her  head  toward  that  individual,  "  and  myself 
have  presumed  to  call  and  make  your  acquaintance  and 
welcome  you  cordially  to  our  town.  Please  allow  me  to 
introduce  myself,  Lottie  Howard." 

"  I  am  charmed  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Miss  Howard, 
and  Miss  Bentley,  and  I  thank  you  for  calling  and  your 
cordial  expressions  of  welcome,*'  was  the  smiling  reply,  as 
she  shook  the  hand  of  the  former  and  kissing  the  other, 
rather  impulsively  continued,  "Do  not  wonder,  dear,  at  my 
meeting  you  as  an  old  friend,  for  I  feel  that  you  are  one  ; 
being  the  daughter  of  my  dear  Louis'  guardian,  and  also 
the  namesake  of  his  mother,  my  Aunt  Florence.  I  hope 
we  will  soon  be  dear  friends.  Come,  sit  down  on  the  sofa, 
and  you  also,  Miss  Howard.  Let  me  take  your  hats,  and 
please  make  yourself  at  home ;  I  am  so  delighted  that  you 
called,  for  I  was  lonely,  and  it  is  just  ever  so  delicious  to 
feel  that  I  will  soon  have  at  least  two  sweet,  dear,  dear 
friends.  You  must  stay  to  tea,  for  Louis  will  call,  and  can 
very  readily  escort  you  home,"  and  with  this  rather  gush- 
ing "  put  on  "  welcome,  she  ran  off  to  her  chamber  with  the 
visitors'  hats,  declaring,  laughingly,  as  she  returned,  that 
they  should  not  get  them  back  until  she  was  willing  to  let 
them  go. 

"  And  now  we  can  chat.  I  intend  to  take  your  hearts  by 
storm  ;  so  surrender  without  too  long  a  siege.  I  was  so  sor- 
ry, Miss  Bentley,  but  no,  I  will  not  style  you  so,  you  look  too 
small  and  sweet  for  such  formality,  may  I  not  call  you  by 
your  sweet  name  ?  Florence  is  fraught  with  delicious  mem- 
ories for  me.  I  once  spent  a  delightful  season  at  sunny  and 
storied  Florence." 

"Certainly,  Miss  Burgoyne,  I  will  be  very  happy  to  have 
you  call  me  Florence.  I  do  not  like  to  be  styled  Miss 
Bentley." 

"  I  joyfully  accept  your  grant,  sweet  Florence,  and  will 
it  be  presuming  to  request  the  same  of  you,  Miss  Howard  ? 
You  look  as  though  any  one  could  love  you  very  dearly.  I 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


will  remain  here  this  winter,  as  papa  has  gone  to  Europe, 
and  I  desire  to  make  some  close  friendships,  for  if  I  do  not, 
I  know  that  I  will  find  it  very  drear  and  lonely." 

"I  will  be  perfectly  willing  that  you  call  me  Charlotte  or 
Lottie,  for  like  Florence,  I  do  not  enjoy  formality.  When 
any  one  calls  me  Miss  Howard  it  makes  me  feel  strangely, 
for  I  am  so  accustomed  to  hearing  every  body  call  me  Lot- 
tie." 

"  Lottie  is  very  sweet,  but  Florence,  dear,  as  I  was  about 
to  tell  you,  but  digressed,  I  was  so  sorry  that  I  could  not  see 
your  mother  and  Mrs.  Waters  this  morning.  I  was  excess- 
ively fatigued  from  traveling  and  had  not  left  my  chamber 
when  they  called,  so  please  excuse  me  to  them.  I  will  call 
to-morrow  especially  to  apologize.  I  trust  they  did  not 
feel  hurt." 

Florence  assuring  her  that  her  mother  and  sister  were  not 
offended,  Miss  Irene  continued,  "  Your  sister?  You  have  a 
married  sister,  then  ?  I  was  not  aware  of  the  fact.  If 
agreeable  I  will  call  on  both  you  and  Lottie  to-morrow  after- 
noon, as  Friday  Louis  promised  to  drive  me  out  to  see  the 
sights,  and  then  on  Saturday  I  will  have  to  rest  all  day  from 
the  fatigue,  but  you  are  both  students  as  yet,  I  believe,  and 
my  visit  may  disturb  you." 

"Not  at  all,  Miss  Burgoyne.  We  generally  study  at  night, 
and  shall  be  happy  to  have  you  call  any  afternoon,  and  you 
know  we  are  next  door  neighbors,  so  without  inconvenience 
to  yourself  you  can  readily  visit  both  at  the  same  time." 

"  Ah !  that  is  really  delightful ;  but  then,  at  the  same 
time,  it  is  not  so  nice  either,  for  I  will  always  have  to  be 
careful  in  not  giving  one  more  attention  than  the  other. 
Jealousy  breaks  some  of  the  dearest  friendships." 

"Florence  and  I  are  never  jealous  of  each  other,  so  you 
need  not  be  afraid  of  any  trouble  like  that." 

"Well,  you  can  not  be  human,  then,"  was  the  laughing 
rejoinder,  and  thus  from  one  topic  to  another  the  three 
girls  soon  became  very  sociable.  Books,  birds,  pets,  the 
town  and  its  inhabitants,  the  different  modes  of  enjoyment, 
and  the  College  and  its  students,  were  brought  forward  and 


170 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


discussed  very  ably  and  lengthily  until  the  fall  afternoon, 
beginning  rapidly  to  wane,  warned  the  visitors  that  it  was 
time  to  say  good-bye,  but  Irene  would  not  listen  to  their 
going.  "  Please  stay  a  little  longer  ;  it  is  not  dark  yet  for 
an  hour,  and  moreover  I  want  Louis  to  call  for  you.  I  want 
to  see  him  for  something  very  particularly  this  evening, 
and  now,  in  the  meantime,  let  us  have  a  little  music." 

Thus  persuaded  the  girls  lingered,  listening  to  the  gay, 
operatic  solos  rendered  by  Miss  Burgoyne,  until  it  was  quite 
dark,  and  then  of  necessity  for  an  escort  they  had  to  linger 
yet  longer. 

"  There  is  an  urgent  ring  at  the  bell  now,''  cried  Irene, 
a  hope  lighting  up  her  lovely  face  ;  "fome  one  has  called 
for  you  and  I  will  be  left  alone." 

But  the  fluttering  heart  fell,  when  instead  of  Louis 
Montaine,  Harry  Bentley  sent  up  his  name  with  the  in- 
formation that  he  had  called  to  see  the  young  ladies  home. 

"  I  am  going  home  with  you  then,  Florence  ;  for  I  must 
see  Louis  to-night,"  whispered  Irene,  as  she  conducted  her 
visitors  to  her  chamber  to  don  their  hats.  "  I  promise  not 
to  disturb  you  nor  the  boys  in  your  studies,  but  will 
spend  the  evening  with  your  mother ;  am  I  welcome?'' 

"  Certainly  ;  you  know  that  you  will  be  welcome,"  was 
the  prompt,  smiling  reply,  and  hastily  throwing  a  cloak 
over  her  arm  and  donning  a  hat,  Irene  Burgoyne,  with  a 
look  that  said  '*  he  shall  not  outgeneral  me,"  preceded  her 
visitors  down  stairs. 

Harry  stood  in  the  hall,  and  with  a  sort  of  wonder  gazed 
upon  the  beautiful,  stylish  girl  as  she  approached,  acknowl- 
edging the  introduction  with  a  profound,  deferential  bow. 

"  Mr.  Bentley,  you  take  charge  of  Miss  Howard,  and  I 
will  escort  this  sweet  little  sister  of  yours,"  and  laughingly 
drawing  the  arm  of  Florence  within  hers,  she  led  the  way 
out  into  the  street. 

"  Well,  Charlotte,  what  do  you  think  of  Louis's  lady- 
love," asked  Harry  as  they  got  a  little  in  advance. 

"I  think  her  very  beautiful,  Harry,  but, to  be  candid,  do 
not  like  her  much.    Her  manners  are  too  studied  and  fawn- 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


171 


ing,  and  I  think  she  is  very  vain  and  deceitful,"  was  the 
emphatic  reply. 

"  If  Louis  should  ask  you  your  opinion  of  his  betrothed 
would  you  be  so  frank  as  that  ?" 

"  Certainly,  that  is  my  honest  opinion  of  her,  and  if  he 
should  ask  it  of  me  I  could  not  do  other  wise  than  to  give  it ; 
but  I  do  not  think  he  will  require  me  to  tell  this  disagree- 
able truth." 

"Florence  seems  to  be  very  sociable  and  wonderfully  taken 
up  with  her.  But  she  is  beautiful,  and  quite  a  rival  for 
Miss  Newton  in  dress  and  style,  eh  ?" 

"  Quite  a  rival,"  and  a  bitter  ring  was  in  the  tone  ;  "  but 
her  dress,  although  black,  is  a  sad  mockery  for  mourning. 
I  was  almost  horrified  this  afternoon  when  she  told  me  her 
mother  had  been  dead  only  eight  months  ;  and  you  know, 
Louis's  father  died  about  three  weeks  before,  and  just  to 
see  she  is  wearing  silk-lace  and  jewelry.  Oh!  it  made 
me  feel  so  badly." 

"  Yes,  that  is  so,  even  with  my  ignorance  about  such 
matters  I  did  not  take  her  to  be  in  mourning.  Oh  !  well, 
she  will  make  a  splendid  wife  for  a  rich  man." 

"  Love  at  first  sight,  Harry  ?  Do  not  let  her  captivate 
you  like  she  has  done  Florence." 

"  Please  give  me  credit  for  better  sense  than  that,  Miss 
Lottie,  I  am  not  at  all  captivated  by  Louis's  beauty,  and  it 
does  not  seem  that  her  coming  has  madt,  him  extra  happy. 
I  expected  to  see  him  radiant,  but  instead  he  has  been  blue 
and  gloomy  all  day.  He  is  strange  that  way  of  late,  every 
now  and  then  a  gloomy  fit  seizes  him,  and  winds  up  with 
a  nervous  headache.  I  left  him  now  with  one,  and  after 
he  persuaded  me  to  call  for  you,  went  and  laid  down  on  the 
lounge,  and  I  hope  that  I  will  not  be  doomed  to  escort  this 
young  queen  home  to-night." 

"He  is  very  subject  to  these  headaches,  I  believe,"  quer- 
ied Charlotte,  her  voice  full  of  concern  and  sympathy 
now. 

"He  will  not  acknowledge  it,  but  I  should  judge  that  he 
was  ;  for  this  is  the  second  one  he  has  had  within  the  last 


172 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


few  days.  The  doctor  says  that  they  are  brought  on  from 
mental  excitement  and  worry,  but  I  am  sure  I  cannot  see 
what  he  has  to  worry  him,  unless  he  ftudies  too  hard." 

Charlotte  made  no  reply,  but  a  sigh,  deep  and  painful, 
escaped  her  lips.  She  understood  better  than  the  speaker 
what  Louis  Montaine's  worry  and  mental  trouble  was,  and 
the  secret  left  in  her  keeping  was  very  painful. 

Contrary  to  Harry's  expectations,  Louis  Montaine  was 
down  stairs,  seemingly  relieved  of  his  headache  when  they 
came  in.  He  started  involuntarily  on  seeing  his  cousin^ 
while  a  sudden  cloud  overspread  his  face ,  but  recovering 
himself  instantly,  he  came  forward,  introducing  his  cousin 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bentley. 

"  Stay,  Lottie,  and  drink  tea  with  us,  and  then  we  can 
walk  home  with  Miss  Irene  to-night.  You  know  how  you 
enjoy  a  moonlight  walk." 

"  No,  thank  you,  Harry  ;  I  did  not  tell  mamma  that  I 
would  stay  out,  and  they  will  be  waiting  on  me.  So  good 
night  all.    Call  soon,  Miss  Burgoyne." 

"Stay,  Miss  Lottie,  and  enjoy  the  proposed  walk  later.  I 
will  go  in  and  tell  your  mother  where  you  are,"  spoke 
Louis  Montaine,  looking  at  the  girl  with  an  eager  light 
breaking  over  his  face. 

u  Not  to-night,"  she  laughed.  "  Good  night,  Miss  Bur- 
goyne. .Remember  your  engagement  to-morrow,"  and  she 
extended  her  hand  to  the  young  lady,  who  very  cooly 
shook  it,  throwing  an  ominous  scowl  at  her  cousin,  who 
did  not  fail  to  notice  it,  and  with  a  wicked  gleam  in  his 
handsome  eyes  he  said  : 

"  As  Harry  has  had  the  pleasure  of  escorting  you  this  far, 
please,  Miss  Charlottie,  give  me  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
safely  home,"  and  bowing,  he  offered  his  arm,  which  she 
graciously  accepted,  and  they  moved  away,  much  to  the  dis- 
comfiture of  Miss  Irene. 

They  were  gathered  around  the  table  when  he  came  in,, 
and  in  apology  for  his  tardiness,  he  said,  mischievously  : 

"  Miss  Lottie  is  so  entertaining  I  could  not  get  off  one 
moment  earlier;  but  I  will  make  up  for  lost  time  by  being 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


173 


very  attentive  to  the  wants  of  these  young  ladies.  What 
will  you  have,  'Rene,  some  of  the  chicken  salad? 

"  No,  thank  you.  Mr.  Harry  Bentley  has  attended  to  my 
wants  already." 

The  young  man  smiled  at  this  retaliating  thrust,  but 
wisely  kept  quiet,  saying  nothing  more  then  to  aggravate 
the  anger  and  jealousy  he  saw  that  he  had  aroused,  but  in- 
stead endeavored  to  allay  it  by  a  lively  good  humor  and 
Watchful  attention  to  her  during  the  meal.  And  under  his 
bright  and  merry  laughter  the  cloud  soon  vanished  from 
her  face,  and  she  became  quite  vivacious,  trying  her  very 
best  to  appear  charming  and  sociable. 

After  supper  the  visitor  was  left  to  be  entertained  by 
the  minister  and  his  quiet  little  wife,  the  others  going  oft 
to  study. 

Just  before  ten  she  rose,  looking  rather  bored  and  quiet- 
ed down,  and  said,  "  I  will  run  up  to  Florence's  room  and 
bid  her  good  bye,  and  let  her  direct  me  how  to  summon 
my  escort,  for  I  think  it  high  time  to  see  about  ^oing,"  and 
acting  out  her  words,  she  was  soon  with  Florence ;  but 
summoning  her  escort  she  found  not  so  easily  accomplished. 
Louis  Montaine  was  just  engaged  on  some  study  he  could 
not  possibly  leave  until  through  with  it,  and  Irene  must 
wait  a  half  hour  longer,  so,  at  the  suggestion  of  Florence, 
the  two  girls  went  down  stairs  again. 

"You  have  no  piano?"  Irene  asked,  with  evident  sur- 
prise, looking  around  the  unassuming  but  neat  parlor. 

"No,  the  melodeon  is  the  only  musical  instrument  we 
have  in  the  house.  Sister  Masie  never  cared  for  music,  but 
I  am  very  fond  of  it.  I  am  taking  lessons  regularly  now, 
both  on  the  piano  and  melodeon.  Lottie  has  a  grand  piano, 
and  I  go  in  there  very  often  to  practice,  and  what  do  you 
think,  Louis  has  promised  to  give  me  one  for  my  very  own 
at  Christmas." 

"Ah?  he  is  very  generous,  I  know,"  was  the  reply,  the 
tone  tinged  with  the  jealousy  she  felt. 

"Yes,  indeed,  he  is  very  generous  ;  he  seems  to  delight  in 
making  presents.    He  gave  me  this  watch  on  my  promo- 


174 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


tion  at  Easter,"  and  as  she  spoke  she  drew  from  her  belt  a 
pretty  little  enamelled  gold  watch,  continuing,  with  a  rip- 
pling laugh,  "saying  that  it  would  never  do  for  a  school 
girl  to  be  without  time." 

"Quite  a  handsome  little  affair,"  and  Irene  Burgoyne 
looked  strange.  "Why,  I  feel  really  jealous  of  his  attention 
to  your  wants,"  and  the  smile  she  tried  to  force  to  her  lips 
died  away  quite  a  failure. 

"Oh !  you  must  not  be  jealous  of  me,  I  will  not  inter- 
fere with  your  claims,"  and  she  blushed  prettily.  "He 
treats  me  as  he  would  a  sister,  you  know,  and  I  often  feel 
as  though  he  was  my  brother.  We  all  like  Louis  very 
muofa:." 

"I  have  never  found  the  person  yet  that  does  not,"  re- 
plied the  listener,  with  a  hard  laugh.  "I  fear  Louis  Mon- 
taine  is  too  much  a  social  pet  to  make  a  good,  true  hus- 
band." 

Florence  Bentley  could  not  comprehend  that.  Her  ideas 
were  that  he  would  make  a  most  devoted,  kind  and  good 
husband.  A  warm  defense  trembled  on  her  lips,  but  fear- 
ful of  offending,  she  kept  silent. 

"You  know,"  continued  Irene,  "we  are  engaged,  and  I 
love  him  very  dearly,  so  you  must  excuse  me  being  so  jeal- 
ous. I  fancy  that  1  am  the  only  one  who  has  the  right  to 
like  him,  but  I  see  that  I  need  not  be  afraid  of  you,  if  that 
glittering  ring  tells  a  true  tale." 

Florence  Bentley  laughed  happily,  and  frankly  confessed 
her  engagement  to  "Lottie's  brother." 

"It  cannot  be  possible,  such  a  tiny  little  creature  ?" 

"But  you  know  I  will  not  be  so  tiny  when  we  are  mar- 
ried," was  the  naive  rejoinder.  "He  is  at  college  yet,  so  it 
will  be  many  years  that  we  have  to  wait." 

"[  am  sorry  for  you.  Long  engagements  are  wearying, 
disgusting  necessities ;  but  I  am  glad  that  I  have  found 
some  one  to  sympathize  with  me,  and  of  whom  I  need  not 
be  jealous.  Louis  coolly  informed  me  last  night  that  I 
would  have  to  wait  on  him  four  years  longer,  and  pray  what 
is  your  probationary  doom  ?" 


Mrs.  ffayes. 


175 


"Four  or  five  years,"  was  answered  with  a  merry  laugh, 
"but  I  do  not  mind  it,  for  I  will  not  be  ready  myself  until 
then ;  I  like  long  engagements ;  they  are  a  good  test  of 
each  others  love  and  constancy.  If  a  man  can  wait  on  you 
for  five  years,  I  do  not  think  you  need  fear  to  trust  him 
after  that,  and  moreover  it  is  not  right  to  get  married  too 
hastily." 

"Profound  logic!"  laughed  Irene,  "But  I  do  not  agree 
with  you.  The  sheer  ennui  of  the  thing  is  enough  to  kill 
the  deepest  love.  Certainly  you  will  miss  the  pure,  sweet, 
ecstacy  of  marriage  that  one  experiences  after  a  short  en- 
gagement. A.s  the  years  come  and  go,  and  you  are  still 
found  waiting,  fettered  and  yet  not  married,  you  are  too 
thoroughly  tired  out  to  experience  any  sweet  joy  or  thrill- 
ing delight  when  your  marriage  actually  takes  place.  Oh, 
this  waiting  is  horrid  to  me, 

Sighing,  dying,  lying,  frying ; 
In  the  furnace  of  Love's  fire  ; 
Creeping,  sleeping, 
Oh  !  how  slowly  the  hours  retire  !" 

"I  suppose  you  feel  differently  from  me,"  said  Florence, 
looking  wonderingly  on  the  frowning,  impatient  girl.  "I  have 
to  study  and  assist  mamma,  and  there  is  always  so  much  to 
divert  my  thoughts  that  it  does  not  seem  like  waiting ;  it  is 
only  something  pleasant  the  future  has  in  store  for  me.  I 
commenced  loving  Arthur  when  I  was  a  wee  child  and  he 
has  called  me  sweetheart  ever  since  I  can  remember.  He 
seems  a  part  of  my  life,  and  yet  I  am  not  impatient  for  the 
future.  1  enjoy  the  present,  and  when  the  future  comes  I 
will  still  be  enjoying  the  present." 

"  Well,  yon  are  the  perfect  model  of  sweet  patience,  and 
I  only  wish  that  you  could  instil  some  of  it  into  my  compo- 
sition ;  but  here  comes  Mr.  Louis,  and  I  must  pay  good-bye. 
Come  often  to  see  me,  dear." 

"  Well,  'Rene,  how  do  you  like  my  country  home  and 
guardian's  family  ?"  inquired  Louis  Montaine  as  they  got  out 
on  the  street. 

"  To  give  you  a  candid  reply,  Louis,  I  do  not  like  them  at 


176 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


all,  and  as  for  the  parsonage,  I  can  not  see  how  you  can  en- 
dure its  dull  discipline  and  plain,  almost  common,  furnish- 
ings, when  you  have  been  accustomed  to  a  gay,  delightful 
freedom  and  elegant,  chaste  surroundings.  Mrs.  Bentley  is 
a  real  little  fogy ;  Mr.  Bentley  as  inquisitive,  prying  and 
licensed  as  ministers  usually  are ;  Harry  is  too  sainted  for 
me,  and  Florence  is — well,  the  only  one  that  I  like." 

"  You  are  very  ha^ty  in  your  judgment  and  rather  hasty 
in  returning  Florence's  visit.  I  wonder  how  they  like  you?'' 

"  It  does  not  matter  much,''  and  the  sound  of  choked 
tears  was  in  the  tone,  at  the  covert  reproach  his  wo^ds  con- 
veyed. "  I  will  not  worry  them  much  with  my  presence. 
You  think  I  judge  hastily,  but  you  do  not  know  my  provo- 
cation. Why,  Mr.  Bentley  said,  if  not  in  literal  language, 
plain  enough  for  any  one  to  understand  his  meaning,  that  it 
was  wrong  in  me  coming  up  here  ;  maidenly  reserve  should 
have  forbidden  it  f  that  he  did  not  approve  of  a  young  lady 
running  about  without  a  chaperon.  Oh  !  he  made  me  an- 
gry!" 

"Neither  do  I  approve  of  it, 'Rene.  You  will  make 
your  name  a  public  by-word  the  way  you  are  running 
around,  living  alone  at  public  hotels.  I  can  not  understand 
what  your  father  means  by  leaving  you  so  much  aJone  and 
unprotected.  I  do  not  like  it  that  the  girl  who  is  to  become 
my  wife  should  lay  herself  subject  to  the  world's  criti- 
cism. You  will  have  to  be  more  careful  how  you  aet,'Rene. 
I  have  a  proud  name  to  uphold  and  could  not  marry  any 
one  that  is  liable  to  have  the  slightest  reflection  thrown 
upon  her  fair  name.  You  must  excuse  me  speaking  so 
plainly,  but  it  is  best  always  to  say  what  you  think." 

u  Yes,  I  know  you  are  right,  Louis.  I  did  not  consider 
it  any  impropriety  in  coming  up  here,  but  felt  it  best  to 
come  where  I  should  have  a  rightful  protector  in  you  as  my 
cousin,  if  nothing  more,  for  do  you  know  that  papa  has 
gone  to  Europe  six  weeks  ago  V 

"No,  I  was  not  aware  of  it,  yet  I  am  not  surprised,  for  I 
advised  him  to  go  before  he  got  into  trouble.  'Rene,  I 
might  as  well  tell  you,  if  you  do  not  know  it  already,  that 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


177 


it  was  your  father  who  robbed  you  of  your  ring  and  other 
jewelry.  At  my  request  it  is  not  publicly  known.  The 
detective  I  employed  very  quickly  traced  it  to  his  door,and  to 
get  the  ring  back  I  will  have  to  pay  for  it.  Of  course  it 
has  all  been  hushed  up  through  my  instrumentality,  but 
your  father  must  stay  away ;  if  he  returns  the  prison  is  his 
only  home,  I  am  afraid,  for  I  cannot  interfere  in  the  law. 
But  I  really  thought  that  he  would  have  provided  you  with 
a  good  home  and  protection." 

Irene  Burgoyne's  voice  was  low  and  tremulous  as  she  re- 
plied :  u  Yes,  Louis,  I  heard  that  my  father  was  guilty  of 
this  two-fold,  monstrous  crime,  that  of  robbing  his  child 
and  murdering  his  wife  ;  and  the  horrible  discovery  made 
me  very  ill.  I  was  delirious  for  weeks  and  nearly  died,  and 
when  I  finally  recovered  he  was  gone,  and  I  was  glad,  for 
never,  never  again  would  1  speak  to  him,  and  I  only  hope 
that  I  may  never  see  his  guilty  face  more.  He  made  ar- 
rangements with  Mrs.  Henderson  to  board  and  take  care  of 
me  for  an  unlimited  time ;  but  last  week,  receiving  quite  a 
liberal  remittance  from  him,  and  feeling  the  need  of  a 
change  of  air  and  scenery,  and  wanting  to  see  a  certain 
individual  so  dreadfully,  I  concluded  to  come  up  here  and 
spend  awhile.  Miss  Lafonte  came  with  me  and  saw  that 
every  thing  was  right  and  proper.  I  have  strictly  private 
apartments,"  and  never  go  down  to  a  meal  or  sit  in  the 
public  parlor.  So  where^is  there  any  thing  wrong  in  this 
visit,  Louis  ?  I  thought  you  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
me  come,  but  if  I  am  not  welcome  I  will  send  for  Miss 
Lafonte,  and  go  back  to  town  just  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"Oh !  no,  stay,  now  that  you  are  here — perhaps  it  is  best 
you  are  away  from  Charleston  for  the  present ;  I  am  very 
much  afraid  unpleasant  things  are  being  whispered  around. 
I  hope  that  you  will  like  visiting  the  parsonage  better 
after  awhile,  but  you  must  lay  aside  your  city  airs  if  you 
desire  to  enjoy  yourself  ;  when  in  Rome  you  must  do  as 
Rome  does.  It  is  this  adaptation  to  circumstances  that  makes 
me  get  on  so  nicely,  for  I  do  really  have  a  delightful  home, 
and  am  quitb  pleased  with  my  country  life.  How  do  you 
like  Miss  Howard  ?" 


178 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"  She  seems  to  be  a  very  nice,  pleasant  girl,  but  some- 
how I  do  not  like  her  ;  she  is  not  very  polished,  and  rather 
too  wild  for  her  age.'' 

"  I  thought  so,"  and  Louis  Montaine  laughed  outright. 
c<  1  like  her  and  think  she  is  a  charming  ^irl.  You  know 
she  is  the  rival  that  you  made  so  much  noise  about  last 
summer,  and  whom  you  came  up  here  to  find  out,  so  I 
thought  I  had  better  tell  you  at  once  to  save  you  the  trou- 
ble of  searching  her  out.  So  you  take  her  to  be  very 
formidable  ?" 

"  No,  I  should  not,"  was  the  bitter,  ringing  response,  the 
latent  jealousy  aroused  again  to  a  fiery  heat ;  a  I  would 
hardly  suppose  that  my  cousin  and  betrothed  husband 
would  stoop  so  low  as  to  flirt  with  a  little,  red-haired 
country  school  girl  and  born  coquette,  which  I  can  see  she 
is.  I  will  soon  make  her  understand  that  she  shall  not  flirt 
with  you." 

"  Whew  !"  whistled  the  young  man  provoking^,  "  I 
would  not  show  myself  so  jealous,  'Rene,  and  you  wrong 
Miss  Lottie ;  she  is  no  coquette  and  no  one  could  induce 
her  to  flirt.  But  come,  do  not  let  us  quarrel,  for  you  really 
have  no  cause  to  be  afraid  of  her,  she  does  not  care  a  fig 
for  me,  but  is  in  love  v  ith  some  one  else.  Try  and  make 
friends  with  her  and  1  know  you  will  like  her,  and  through 

her  you  will  be  introduced  into  the  best  society  of  S  ; 

the  Howards  are  the  cream  of  the  elite  up  here.  Come, 
'Rene,  do  not  pout  now,  you  know  I  was  only  teasing  you  ; 
but  here  we  are  at  your  destination — so  you  will  soon  be 
rid  of  me." 

"  Do  not  tease  me,  Louis,"  and  the  girl  spoke  pleadingly. 
"I  can  not  help  feeling  jealous,  I  love  you  so  dearly,  and  if 
you  were  generous  and  kind  you  would  not  try  to  call  forth 
that  jealousy  and  make  me  miserable.'' 

u  Very  well,  I  promise  not  to  tease  you  again  ; "  and  he 
spoke  like  he  would  to  a  petted,  humored  child,  "and  rest 
assured  now  that  you  have  no  cause  whatever  to  be  jealous 
of  Miss  Howard — she  will  marry  Harry  Bentley,  decidedly 
so.    Good-night,  now.  I  will  call  to-morrow  afternoon  to 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


179 


drive  you  up  on  a  visit  to  the  mountains,  and  to  make  it 
pleasanter  and  more  prudent  I  have  invited  a  few  friends  to 
accompany  us — so  please  be  ready  early." 

"  Yery  well,  but  Louis,"  and  Irene  Burgoyne's  voice  was 
low  and  somewhat  confused,  uhow  is  itabout  the  ring — can 
you  get  it  back  ?  I  would  feel  so  much  happier  and  securer 
if  I  had  my  ring  on  my  finger  again.'' 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  would,  but  I  can  not  get  it  for  you  at 
present,  in  fact  I  am  fearful  of  ever  recovering  it  again.  It 
was  bought  from  a  jeweler  in  Charleston  and  is  owned  now 
by  a  Miss  Delton,  and  of  course  if  I  made  any  effort  to  get 
it  back  it  would  expose  your  father's  villainy  ;  so  I  would 
rather  lose  it  than  to  have  any  public  exposure;  and,  'Rene, 
you  would  oblige  me  very  much  never  to  mention  it  to  me 
again  ;  it  makes  me  feel  so  horrible  ;  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
would  be  thankful  never  to  hear  the  name  of  your  father 
again." 

"I  would  be  thankful  myself,"  and  the  girl's  tone  rang 
with  a  bitter  hatred  and  scorn,  "and  if  I  were  only  independ- 
ent of  him  I  would  instantly  disown  him  forever.  Louis, 
my  father  is  a  fiend  in  huimn  guise,  but  you  will  be  kind 
and  just,  and  not  turn  against  me.  I  am  innocent  and 
should  not  suffer  for  his  iniquity;  and,  Louis,  there  is  some- 
thing else  I  wish  to  ask  you,  did  you  ever  meet  a  very  love- 
ly girl  by  the  name  of  Lila  Black?" 

Louis  Montaine  started  involuntarily,  but,  checking  his 
instantly  aroused  suspicions,  he  replied  indifferently,  ''No, 
I  have  never  known  any  one  by  that  dismal  name.  Why 
do  you  ask?" 

"  There  was  a  girl  by  that  name  boarding  at  Mrs.  Hen- 
derson's. She  was  a  music-teacher,  and  she  told  me  once 
that  she  was  well  acquainted  with  you,  but  I  am  not  at  all 
surprised  to  find  her  out  in  an  untruth.  To  my  horror,  I 
discovered  in  time  that  she  was  a  disreputable  character, 
and  Mrs.  Henderson  expelled  her  immediately,  and  I  am 
very  much  relieved  and  glad  to  know  that  you  were  not  ac- 
quainted with  her.  &he  had  the  audacity  to  tell  me  that 
you  were  a  friend  of  hers,  and  hearing  that  she  came  fr  a 
the  country  it  made  me  feel  very  badly." 


180  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

"  And  what  became  of  this  Miss  Black  after  her  expul- 
sion from  Mrs.  Henderson's?"  inquired  the  young  man,  a 
strange  sound  of  interest  in  his  tone. 

"  I  really  do  not  know.  I  saw  her  once  afterwards  on  the 
street,  but,  of  course,  shunned  her  like  I  would  a  reptile. 
You  never  knew  her,  did  you  V 

"  No,  I  never  knew  any  one  by  that  name  in  my  life," 
and  Louis  Montaine  laughed  strangely.  "  Bat,  good  night 
now,  I  cannot  linger  another  moment,  for  I  have  not  fin- 
ished studying  yet.  I  will  see  you  to-morrow,"  and  with- 
out the  slightest  caress  he  was  gone. 

The  girl  ran  to  the  window  to  catch  a  last  glimpse  of  him 
as  girls  will  do.  She  sees  his  tall  figure  cross  the  street,  then 
pause.  Presently  he  takes  off  hie  hat,  his  dark,  shapely 
head  bends  low  in  one  of  his  graceful,  perfect  bows,  and 
with  a  pang  of  jealousy  Irene  distinguished  Charlotte  How- 
ard and  a  young  gentleman  approaching.  For  a  few  min- 
utes they  stood  there  talking,  seemingly  very  earnestly,  then 
the  three  moved  down  the  street  together. 

Poor  Irene !  she  fully  experienced  that  it  was  pain  to  love, 
especially  to  love  as  deeply,  passionately  and  jealously  as  she 
did  this  handsome  young  cousin  of  hers. 

Friday  afternoon  proved  to  be  balmy,  delightful  and 
certainly  propitious  for  an  enjoyable  time  out  in  the  mel- 
low, variegated  autumn  country.  Irene  sat  awaiting  her 
cousin,  robed  in  a  stylish  black  velvet  riding  costume,  a  lit- 
tle jetty  hat  of  velvet  and  plumes,  placed  jauntily  upon 
her  fair,  queenly  head,  making  her  a  picture  of  rare,  con- 
spicuous loveliness  ;  yet  her  face  wore  no  joyous  smiles,  but 
was  very  pale,  while  the  large  eyes  looked  weary  and  heavy 
as  from  much  recent  weeping.  She  seemed  depressed  and 
unhappy,  and  yet  was  strikingly  beautiful,  and  no  doubt  so 
thought  Louis  Montaine,  as  full  of  life  and  ready  for  a  frolic 
he  ran  up  the  stairs  unannounced,  and  paused  upon  the 
threshold.  "Good  afternoon,  'Rene,"  he  said  approaching, 
holding  out  a  rose  for  her  acceptance,  a  look  of  admiration 
in  his  eyes.    "  One  of  the  very  last  roses  of  summer,"  he 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


181 


laughingly  added,  as  she  took  it  from  his  hand  with  a  smil- 
ing "  thank  you.'' 

An  open,  two-seat  vehicle  stood  at  the  gate,  and  as  Louis 
Montaine  appeared  with  his  charge,  Harry  Bentley  and  Ar- 
thur Howard  sprang  from  it,  the  former  shaking  hands,  the 
latter  bowing  profoundly  in  acknowledgement  of  the  in- 
troduction. Florence  and  Charlotte  received  her  cordially, 
as  she  was  assisted  in  and  took  her  place  between  them,  and 
the  three  young  men  jumping  in  afterwards,  and  laughing 
and  chatting  together  as  only  youths  and  maidens  under- 
stand how  to  perform  those  merry  functions,  they  were 
driven  off  on  the  anticipated  ride,  Irene  having  all  objects 
of  interest  pointed  out  and  described  to  her  fully,  and 
Charlotte  Howard,  who  could  tell  by  the  almost  incessant 
talk,  the  face,  flushed  and  animated  from  the  exercise  and 
pure,  open  mountain  air,  the  eyes,  bright  and  restless,  and 
the  ready,  ringing,  almost  too  gay  laughter,  that  a  dull, 
aching  heart  of  pain  throbbed  beneath  the  seemingly  hap- 
py exterior,  and,  although  her  trial  was  severe,  she  acted 
her  part  well,  hiding  securely  from  mortal  eye  her  poig- 
nant heartache,  that  not  even  her  watchful  brother  could 
tell  the  burning,  secret  anguish  that  seemed  to  tear  asunder 
body  and  soul.  And  why  such  exquisite  torture?  Could 
she  not  understand,  from  her  present  experience,  that  an- 
other might  also  be  acting  a  part  upon  this  little  stage  of  a 
secret,  hidden  drama? 

Louis  Montaine's  pride  had  whispered, 

"Cease  thy  wooing, 
Hopeless  love  is  life's  undoing  ;" 
Shame  had  whispered:  "Cease  thy  sighing, 
Scorn  best  answers  love's  denying." 

Although  his  love  for  his  bright,  sweet  girl  was  even 
more  passionate  and  intense  than  when  he  had  declared  it  a 
short  while  before,  he  felt  acutely  that  she  scorned  him. 
The  mortification  of  his  position,  and  her  scornful  repulse, 
still  burnt  keenly,  and  he  fuller  than  ever  realized  that  he 
must  subdue  this  consuming  love  and  try  to  become  recon- 
ciled to  his  first  choice.    Now,  as  he  sat  opposite  to  the 

12 


182 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


two  and  saw  her  gay,  sweet  mood,  his  pride  triumphed 
over  his  (as  the  though c)  scorned  love  and  he  resolved  to 
show  her  that  his  heart  would  not  break  from  her  contempt 
for  his  love,  and  throughout  the  afternoon  he  was  the  de- 
voted lover  to  the  delighted  Irene,  utterly  ignoring  the 
presence  of  Charlotte.  With  cousinly  familiarity  and  lover- 
like attention  he  directed  his  conversation  and  smiles  to  the 
former,  pointing  out  places  of  interest  and  objects  of  beau- 
ty, telling  a  tale  about  this  and  some  episode  about  thaf, 
chatting  over  the  pleasant,  delightful  times  that  they  had 
enjoyed  together  in  the  dear  old  sunny  City  by  the  Sea, 
until  the  heart  of  the  one  bounded  with  rapture  and 
renewed  hope,  and  the  other  almost  suffocated  with  the 
hopeless  pain  at  her  heart. 

M  He  only  wanted  to  flirt  with  me,"  was  her  mental,  ago- 
nized comment,  as  laughing  and  talking  with  the  happy, 
hopeful  Harry,  she  saw  his  devotion  and  apparent  interest 
in  the  radiantly  beautiful  Irene  Burgoyne.  Little  did  she- 
dream  how  covertly  she  was  watched,  and  how  the  quiet, 
smiling  Harry  was  envied,  the  bright  but,  ah !  restless, 
feverish  glances  from  her  eyes,  and  the  supposed  lavish- 
men  t  of  her  heart's  passionate  affection.  And  little  did 
Arthur  and  his  satisfied,  happy  little  -fiance  imagine  what  a 
conflicting,  agonizing  undercurrent  lay  beneath  the  rip- 
pling, noisy  and  seemingly  merry  stream  flowing  on  before 
their  short-sighted  vision.  Who  can  know  but  ourselves,, 
and  the  keen,  all-searching  eye  of  Jehovah,  the  inner  life  of 
man,  th*  secret  recesses  of  pain  and  woe  endured  by  hu- 
manity ! 

Charlotte  Howard  retired  early  that  night,  complaining 
of  fatigue ;  but,  alas  !  it  was  more  a  weariness  of  the  heart 
than  of  the  body.  She  had  suffered  keenly  that  afternoon r 
almost  beyond  human  endurance.  To  witness  the  happi- 
ness of  one  that  was  to  gain  all  that  she  could  desire  in  this 
life  ;  to  see  him  turn  from  her  and  bestow  all  of  his  smiles- 
and  attentions  upon  this  beautiful,  favored  girl,  and  pretend 
that  she  was  indifferent,  when  every  throe  of  her  heart  was 
beating  with  a  keen,  devouring  anguish  and  jealousy,  for 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


183 


what  heart  in  love  can  escape  the  torturing  pangs  of  thafc 
monster — jealousy  ? 

"  How  can  1  make  my  heart  submit  to  its  doom  ;  to  bring 
myself  willing  to  see  them  happy  together  t9  was  her  men- 
tal questioning  ;  but  no  answer  came  to  soothe  her  pain,  and 
her  darkened,  crushed  soul  felt  truly  Miss  Langdon's 
words : 

"The  world  itself  seemed  changed,  and  all 

That  was  beloved  before 
Had  vanished  and  beyond  recall, 

For  she  had  hope  no  more  ; 
The  sere  of  fire,  the  dint  of  steal 
Are  easier  than  such  wounds  to  heal." 

"  Flee  the  temptation  to  sin,"  were  the  words  suggested 
to  Charlotte  Howard,  as  she  sat  with  an  open  note  in  her 
hand,  puzzled  and  doubting  how  she  should  act.  It  was  a 
few  lines  from  Florence  Bentley,  begging  that  she  would 
join  her  in  forming  a  party  to  play  a  game  of  croquet  on 
the  lawn  at  the  parsonage  for  the  entertainment  of  Miss 
Burgoyne.  With  her  hands  clasped  tightly,  the  pain  at  her 
heart  depicted  upon  her  pure,  young  face,  and  the  liquid, 
brown  eyes  full  of  the  unquestioned  poignancy  within,  she 
sat  and  communed  with  herself,  praying  to  know  how  to 
act  right  and  yet  appear  her  old  self  before  others. 

"Must  I  go  this  afternoon  and  endure  what  I  did  yester- 
day?" she  murmured,  musingly.  "See  him  so  devoted  to 
her,  and  ignoring  my  presence  utterly ;  and  then  cousin 
Willie  and  Harry  will  be  there,  frowning  at  each  other  and 
expecting  that  I  should  give  each  smiles  and  kindness. 
And  how  can  I  be  gay,  careless  and  sociable,  with  all  these 
unpleasant  associations  surrounding  me?  And  then  it 
makes  me  so  bad  and  wicked ;  rebellious  thoughts  will 
come :  I  feel  that  God  is  cruel  to  me,  while  jealousy  and 
hatred  try,  oh  !  so  hard,  to  get  the  mastery  of  my  heart. 
How  can  I  curb  and  drive  away  these  terrible  enemies  of 
my  dear  Lord,  and,  like  Him,  love  even  her,  when  she  will 
take  all  the  joy  and  hope  from  my  life?  But  it  is  not  her 
fault;  she  loved  him  before  I  did  ;  she  won  him  first,  and 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


therefore  has  the  beat  right  to  his  love ;  but,  dear  Lord,  I 
am  so  weak  to  battle  with  these  deadly  foes ;  I  feel  that 
they  are  stronger  than  my  will,  and  I  am  so  afraid  Satan 
will  triumph."  Then  the  thought  came,  "  Flee  ye  the 
temptation  to  sin,"  and  with  it  came  the  determination  to 
stay  away  from  the  pleasant  croquet  party,  and  instead 
make  a  visit  to  old  Mrs.  Hayes.  "  It  is  the  only  way  I 
can  save  myself  from  sinning — to  avoid  his  company  until 
I  am  stronger,"  is  her  thought.  u  I  shall  be  happier  to- 
night for  it.  I  must  give  him  up  to  her  finally,  and  must, 
yes,  must  begin  to  realize  that  I  have  my  disobedient  heart 
to  subdue  and  make  it  understand  its  duty,  bitter  and  hard 
though  it  may  be." 

And  with  this  final  determination,  she  wrote  in  answer 
that  she  could  not  come,  and  then  putting  away  her  pretty, 
new  autumn  dress  and  crimson  ribbons,  which  would  have 
made  her  look  so  pretty  and  fresh,  she  donned  instead  an 
old,  brown  gingham,  and  school  hat  and  apron,  then  taking 
her  little  "  charity-basket"  she  descended  to  the  pantry  to 
get  from  her  aunt  some  little  delicacy,  from  the  Sunday's 
cooking  which  was  always  brought  up  about  that  time. 

Mrs.  Hayes  was  an  old  lady  verging  on  to  three  score 
years,  living  in  a  little  tumble-down  cottage  on  the  suburbs 
of  the  town,  living  alone,  with  no  servant  or  relative  to 
minister  to  her  wants  in  health  or  sickness.  A  little  old  wo- 
man, of  undoubted  Irish  origin,  there  seemed  to  be  some  mys- 
tery overshadowing  her  strange,  lonely  life  of  poverty  and 
decided  misery.  Moving  into  the  town  many  years  before, 
no  one  knew  from  where  she  had  come,  or  who  she  was,  or 
on  what  she  subsisted.  She  certainly  had  the  appearance 
of  great  poverty,  but  never  did  any  thing  to  earn  a  penny, 
nor  would  she  receive  one  as  charity.  Once  in  a  while  she 
would  trudge  to  the  post-office,  receive  a  letter,  then  pur- 
chasing a  few  common  groceries,  she  would  return  to  her 
secluded  life,  never  going  outside  her  door  until  on  the 
same  errand  again.  Nothing  would  induce  her  to  enter  a 
Protestant  church,  and  as  there  was  no  Romish  one  in 
easy  reach,  she  was  contented  to  count  her  beads  and  repeat 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


185 


her  "  Ave  Maria,"  calling  upon  the  Holy  Virgin  and  Saints 
to  help  her.  Her  loneliness  and  seeming  great  poverty  at- 
tracted the  sympathy  and  attention  of  several  Christian 
ladies,  and  among  them  the  gentle  Masie  Bentley,  who 
would,  notwithstanding  her  cold,  even  rude  reception,  visit 
the  old  lady,  and  by  persevering  efforts  of  kindness  and 
disinterested  gentleness,  finally  won  the  good- will  of  the 
miserable  misanthrope,  who  began  to  like  and  look  with 
pleasure  for  the  stated  visits  of  the  Protestant  minister's 
daughter. 

One  afternoon,  with  the  wish  to  enliven  the  old  lady's 
dreary  life,  she  had  induced  Lila,  Charlotte  and  Florence, 
then  little  girls,  to  accompany  her  on  one  of  her  visits,  and 
on  their  way  she  talked  to  them  of  her  childless,  lonely 
and  friendless  life.  Charlotte  had  listened  attentively,  and 
her  warm,  impulsive  nature  was  deeply  touched,  her  gentle 
sympathy  instantly  aroused. 

"  Has  she  no  one  to  love  her,  Masie — not  a  soul  ? "  she 
asked,  with  wonder  in  her  eyes  and  pity  in  her  childish 
voice. 

"  ~No9  Lottie,  not  a  soul  seems  to  care  for  the  poor,  old 
lady,  except  Jesus.    You  know  He  cares  for  us  all." 

"  But,  oh  !  how  dreadful  it  must  be  not  to  have  a  living 
soul  to  care  for  you  on  earth,''  persisted  the  child,  "  can  I 
love  her,  Masie  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  can,  my  dear,  if  she  will  let  you." 

"Why,  she  will  be  glad  to  have  me  love  her,  Masie." 

"  I  hope  so,  Lottie ;  you  can  try  it  anyhow,  and  if  she  is 
cross,  do  not  let  her  frighten  you." 

The  cottage  rea3hed,  Mary  Bentley  went  in  without 
knocking,  the  three  little  girls  following.  The  old  creature 
was  sitting  over  a  fire,  an  old  shawl  pinned  over  her 
shoulders,  a  soiled,  smoky  cap  awry  on  her  head,  the  gray 
hair  escaping  from  it  and  falling  in  dishevelled  locks  over 
her  neck  and  face,  and  on  "the  whole  she  presented  a  most 
forlorn  and  untidy  appearance. 

"Take  a  seat,  if  you  can  find  one,"  she  said  gruffly.  "But 
who  is  all  this  crowd  that  you  brought  with  you  ?  I  do  not 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


want  any  children  coming  here,  Miss  Mary  ;  I  will  not  have 
it ;  you  are  welcome  enough,  but  I  will  not  have  others 
brought  here  prying  around." 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  Hayes,  I  will  not  bring  them  again. 
The  walk  is  so  long  and  dreary  that  I  like  company  with 
me.  This  is  my  little  sister  Florence,  and  this  is  Lila  and 
Charlotte  Howard.  Come,  children,  tell  Mrs.  Hayes  how- 
dy, and  let  her  see  what  pleasant,  well-behaved  little  girls 
you  are." 

The  two  former  shrank  away  timidly,  Lila  frowning  dis- 
dainfully, but  Charlotte,  thinking  only  of  the  lonely,  un- 
loved life  of  the  old  woman,  failed  to  see  her  ugliness  and 
came  forward  instantly,  her  eyes  moist  with  pity,  her  rosy 
cheeks  aglow,  and  impetuously  holding  out  her  hand, 
raised  her  face,  as  if  for  a  kiss. 

The  hardened  woman  seemed  touched.  She  took  the 
proffered  hand,  and,  shaking  it,  said  : 

"No,  child,  you  are  too  good  and  pure  for  an  old  sinner 
like  me  to  kiss  you.  Go  away,  child,  and  play  with  those 
fit  for  you,  and  do  not  come  near  me,  I  will  pollute  your 
innocence  and  purity."  Then,  turning  and  fixing  her  eyes 
upon  the  shrinking  Lila,  who  stood  pouting  at  the  door,  she 
continued  :  "I  have  no  use  for  children,  Miss  Mary,  you 
must  not  bring  them  here  again,  or  my  door  is  shut  against 
you,  especially  that  child  there,"  shaking  her  bony  finger  at 
Lila.  "I  had  children  once,  but  they  are  all  gone,  and  I  do 
not  want  to  see  other  bright,  happy  children  about  me  to 
reproach  me,  by  their  innocence,  for  my  sins  and  dark 
deeds.  Why  did  you  bring  them  two  children  here,  Miss 
Mary  ?  To  reproach  me  ?  Take  them  out  of  my  sight ;  I 
can  not  stand  to  see  that  child  there,  take  it  away." 

She  became  violently  agitated,  shaking  to  and  fro,  her 
eyes  wild,  and  gesticulating  as  she  spoke.  It  was  no  use 
trying  to  pacify  her,  and  Masie,  regretting  her  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  amuse  the  old  lady,  "rose  to  take  her  departure, 
trying  the  best  she  could  to  calm  the  old  woman's  agitation. 
Eager  enough  to  get  away,  Lila  and  Florence  ran  out,  but 
Charlotte,  with  wondering  eyes  and  a  sorrowful  face,  hesi- 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


iS7 


tated.  She  looked  at  Masie,  who  beckoned  her  away,  then 
at  the  poor,  dirty  old  lady,  who  had  not  a  soul  to  love  her 
•on  earth,  the  warm,  impulsive,  loving  nature  of  the  child 
arose  paramount  to  her  fears,  and  going  up  to  the  old 
woman,  she  put  her  arms  about  her  neck  and  said  : 

"Good-bye,  old  lady,  Jesus  Christ  and  little  Lottie  will 
love  you  if  nobody  else  will.  I  am  coming  again  with 
Masie,  and  will  bring  you  some  cake  and  tea  for  your  sup- 
per." Then,  without  pausing,  she  flew  out  of  the  hut,  and 
catching  Masie  by  the  hands  whispered  :  "I  am  so  sorry  for 
the  poor  old  soul ;  her  little  children  are  all  dead,  and  she 
does  not  want  to  see  other  little  girls  coming  near  her. 
Just  like  poor  mamma — you  know  how  she  cries  when  she 
sees  a  little  baby  like  my  little  brother  Lemmie  that  is  in 
Paradise.    She  must  be  awful  sad  and  lonely,  eh,  Masie  V 

"  Yes,  dear,  she  must  be  very  lonely  indeed,  but  you  must 
not  go  there  again,  as  it  makes  her  feel  so  badly." 

"  I  know  that  I  shall  never  put  my  foot  in  her  nasty  old 
hut  again,"  said  Lila,  with  a  scornful  toss  of  her  pretty 
head,  while  Florence  looked  as  if  though  she  would  not 
like  to  do  so  either :  but  warm-hearted  little  Lottie  seemed 
full  of  pity  and  forgiveness,  and  when  Masie  left  her  at 
her  home  she  whispered  pleadingly  as  she  kissed  her  good- 
bye, "Please,  darling,  let  me  go  with  you  again  ;  I  want  to 
love  her;"  and  Masie,  laughing,  said  she  would  see.  And 
thus  it  was  that  Charlotte's  acquaintance  had  begun  with  old 
Mrs.  Hayes.  Those  magic  words,  uttered  in  childish  sim- 
plicity and  sincerity,  "I  will  love  you,"  had  touched  and 
thawed  the  crusted  ice  around  the  old  world-beaten  heart, 
and  like  every  one  else,  she  soon  learned  to  love  this  bright, 
guileless  girl,  sweet  Lottie  Howard.  Charlotte  became  a 
constant  and  even  more  welcome  visitor  than  Mary  Ben tley 
to  the  cottage  of  the  lonely  widow ;  first  from  pity  and 
Christ-like  love,  then  from  a  sense  of  duty,  as  the  old  creat- 
ure grew  feebler,  and  consequently  more  dependent  on  the 
help  and  sympathy  of  others.  Many  ladies  made  unavail- 
ing efforts  to  make  her  miserable  life  more  comfortable,  but 
with  persistent  vigor  and  bitter  mistrust  she  repelled  every 


i88 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


advance,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  gentle  Masie  and 
sympathetic,  forgiving  young  Charlotte  Howard,  Mrs. 
Hayes  would  have  been  left  in  undisturbed  seclusion,  to 
feed  upon  her  misanthropic  ill-will.  But  with  untiring 
perseverance  and  child-like  forgiveness,  these  two  girls,  one 
with  John's  gentle,  winning,  loving  devices,  the  other, 
warm,  impulsive,  ingenious,  like  Peter,  impetuous  to  do  the 
Master's  work,  beat  back  every  obstacle  and  continued  on 
to  do  good  for  this  seemingly  hardened,  sin-stained  child  of 
God,  trusting  in  His  mercy  to  bring  her  to  a  sense  of  her 
obligations,  and  repentent  and  sorrowful  to  accept  the  ten- 
dered mercy  held  out  for  her  acceptance. 

Sad  enough  at  heart,  her  thoughts  full  of  the  merry 
party  she  used  always  love  to  form  a  part,  Charlotte  wended 
her  way  through  the  quiet  street  leading  to  the  unfrequented 
cottage  of  Mrs.  Hayes.  As  was  customary,  she  entered  with- 
out knocking.  The  old  lady  sat  rocking  and  smoking  in 
the  chimney  corner  in  which  a  fire  burned  ruddily,  although 
it  was  by  no  means  cold  ;  her  hands  lying  idly  in  her  lap, 
the  remnants  of  her  dinner  on  the  table,  and  a  dirty  pot  and 
kettle  upon  the  unswept  hearth  ;  the  room  was  hot  and 
stifling,  impregnated  with  the  fumes  of  tobacco.  With  a 
momentary  shudder  of  loathing  the  girl  paused  on  the 
threshold,  but  overcoming  the  disgust  she  went  in,  and  after 
shaking  hands  with  the  old  crone  she  sat  down  by  her  and 
began  to  chat  in  her  usual  loving,  pleasant  manner.  As 
washer  wont,  Mrs.  Hayes  was  gruff  and  uncivil,  but  with 
some  show  of  respect  she  laid  aside  her  pipe  and  rising, 
began  to  put  things  to  rights  a  little.  "  I  thought  you  had 
forgotten  all  about  old  grannie,''  she  said,  covering  a  cloth 
over  the  table  and  putting  the  greasy  pot  out  of  sight,  "as 
you  have  not  been  here  lately.  Miss  Mary  does  not  come 
now  as  often  as  she  used  to ;  her  husband  takes  up  all  her 
time  and  thoughts  ;  and  feeling  that  no  one  cared  for  me, 
I  just  let  things  go  as  they  would,  it  does  not  matter  much 
to  me  whether  I  live  like  a  pig  or  not ;  I  will  soon  lay  in 
the  dirt,  so  what  is  the  use  of  trying  to  keep  it  away  from 
me  here?" 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


"  Oh  !  no,  grandma,  I  have  not  forgotten  you,  but  my 
studies  are  so  hard  now,  and  the  days  getting  so  short,  I 
have  had  very  little  time  to  call  my  own  ;  still  I  am  alwajs 
thinking  of  you  and  trying  to  find  time  to  come  and  see 
you  ;  Masie  has  not  been  well,  and  goes  out  very  little,  but 
I  know  that  she  is  often  thinking  of  and  praying  for  you — 
and,  grandma,  I  am  afraid  I  will  leave  home  soon  ;  brother 
wants  me  to  go  away  to  a  boarding-school,  and  I  think  I 
had  better  do  as  he  wishes,  and  I  want  to  beg  you  now  that 
if  I  go  you  will  give  up  the  idea  that  disorder  is  as  good 
as  trying  to  be  cleanly  and  neat ;  it  is  very  unwholesome  to 
live  so  anyhow,  and  you  should  remember  that  One  is  ever 
present  and  watching  over  you,  and  you  must  not  do  things 
just  to  please  me.  Oh  !  how  I  wish  that  you  would  come 
out  and  mingle  with  others  and  attend  Christ's  Church  and 
be  one  of  His  people — you  would  be  so  much  happier." 

"Hush,  hush,  child,  I  do  not  like  you  when  you  preach. 
I  tell  you  that  I  will  live  and  die  right  in  this  room,  away 
from  every  one.  When  you  feel  like  coming  here  to  tell 
me  the  news  and  brighten  me  up  a  little  with  your  happi- 
ness, come  and  welcome,  but  you  must  not  preach.  Miss 
Mary  is  enough  of  a  preacher  without  you  turning  one,  too. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  will  be  glad  if  you  go  away,  and 
then  no  one  will  disturb  me  here  in  my  living  tomb.  I  will 
be  left  to  die  and  rot.  You  coming  here  in  your  sweet, 
young  purity,  being  so  kind  and  loving  to  me,  is  only  heap- 
ing coals  of  fire  upon  my  head.  I  do  not  deserve  it,  child. 
I  have  wronged  you  and  yours  shamefully.  I  have  cheated, 
defrauded  you,  and  now  you  come  with  sweet  words,  leav- 
ing gay  companions  and  happy  associations,  to  spend  awhile 
in  my  old,  polluted  hut,  to  try  and  make  me  happy.  Me 
happy  !  One  that  dares  not  go  and  confess  and  make  restora- 
tion and  receive  absolution.  You  cannot  make  me  happy, 
my  child.  My  breast  is  a  troubled  sea,  never  quiet.  Go- 
back,  child,  to  your  home,  and  forget  that  you  ever  knew 
me.  Go  away  from  me,  accusing  angel.  Go  home,  away 
from  my  sight.  I  do  not  want  you  coming  around  me.  I 
have  told  you  so  a  dozen  times  a  year,  and  yet  you  will 


190 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


come,  come  to  reproach  me  with  kindness  for  my  wrong  to 
you  and  yours." 

The.  old  creature  with  white  hair  hanging  about  her 
wrinkled  visage,  walked  the  floor  talking  and  gesticulating 
excitedly,  and  Charlotte,  troubled,  mystified  and  somewhat 
alarmed,  said  gently : 

"  But  I  like  to  come  here  and  see  you,  grandma.  Do 
not  drive  me  way,  I  am  sure  that  you  have  never  wronged 
me  or  mine,  and  if  you  had,  that  would  be  no  reason  why 
I  should  return  evil  for  evil.  Look  how  we  all  cheat  and 
wrong  our  dear  Lord,  and  yet  how  kind  and  forgiving  He 
is.  I  do  not  come  to  reproach  you,  but  because  1  like  you, 
and  want  to  try  and  make  you  happier  and  more  lively.  So 
do  not  drive  me  away,  and  you  know,  grandma,  I  think  we 
have  heard  something  of  poor  Lila.  A  young  lady  from 
Charleston  told  Mr.  Montaine  about  some  beautiful  girl 
that  was  boarding  at  the  same  house  with  her,  and  we  think 
from  the  description  of  her  it  is  Lila.  I  have  written  and 
so  has  Arthur,  and  we  hope  very  soon  to  hear  some  news 
from  her.'' 

"  I  do  not  want  to  hear  any  thing  about  that  proud,  scorn- 
ful girl,"  was  the  ungracious  reply,  as  calmed  off  into  a 
frowning  ill-humor,  she  sat  down  again,  looking  moodily 
into  the  fire. 

Charlotte  felt  chilled  and  annoyed,  and  not  knowing 
what  to  say  to  quiet  the  ruffled  feelings  of  the  old  lady,  a 
short,  uncomfortable  silence  followed,  which  was  broken 
by  Mrs.  Hayes,  who,  fixing  her  eyes  searchingly  upon  the 
face  of  the  young  girl  said  : 

"  What  do  you  come  here  for,  child  ?  " 

£<  To  see  you,  grandma,"  was  the  simple,  smiling  re- 
sponse. 

"Yes,  to  see  me\  perhaps  that  is  so.  But  did  you  ever 
think  that  it  might  be  of  some  advantage  to  you,  by  and 
by?" 

"  Why,  grandma,  what  makes  you  talk  so  strangely?  I 
have  never  dreamed  of  such  a  possibility." 

"  But  did  you  ever  hear  a  rumor  that  old  Mrs.  Hayes 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


had  a  hidden  store  of  golden  dollars,  eh,  child  ?  and  that 
she  might  leave  them  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  have  heard  of  such  a  thing,"  and  the  tone  was 
reproachful  and  full  of  pain.  "  Could  you  think  so  ill  of 
me  ?  I  always  thought  that  you  were  very  poor,  and  never 
have  heard  any  rumor  to  the  contrary.  I  do  not  want  any 
gold  left  to  me 

"I  believe  you,  child,  and  could  not  think  you  would 
tell  a  lie ;  but  it  seems  so  strange  that  you  will  be  so  per- 
sistent in  your  kind  attentions  to  me,  when  every  one  else 
hates  and  shuns  me." 

"  Oh,  grandma,  you  only  think  that  every  body  hates 
you.  You  will  not  let  them  love  you  ;  but  you  see  I  will. 
I  love  every  body.  The  Bible  teaches  us  to  love  our  neigh- 
bor as  ourselves." 

"  Come,  do  not  preach ;  but,  child,  how  are  you  off  in 
this  world's  goods  ?    Are  you  rich  or  poor  ? 

A  flush  came  to  the  fair  face  of  the  girl,  but  she  replied 
gently  :  "  We  are  not  rich,  but  are  very  comfortable.  I 
have  a  pleasant,  happy  home,  and  if  mamma  is  often  sick 
she  wants  for  nothing." 

"  Yery  well,  very  well  ;  I  did  not  want  to  give  you  any 
thing,  my  child." 

"  Grandma,  if  you  have  money,  why  do  you  not  get  a 
nice,  comfortable  bed,  and  some  warm  clothing  for  the  win- 
ter?   I  am  afraid  that  you  will  suffer." 

"  Did  I  tell  you  that  I  had  money  ?  Money  indeed  !  Not 
a  red  cent  have  I  stored  away.  Do  not  dare  to  strengthen 
the  rumor  that  I  am  a  miser,  having  gold  laid  away,  or  I 
will  be  murdered  in  my  bed  for  naught.  Not  a  cent  will 
they  find." 

"  Certainly  not,  grandma ;  I  would  not  say  such  a  thing, 
for  I  do  not  believe  it,  when  you  seem  so  poor;  but  per- 
haps you  are  better  than  if  you  had  gold  laid  away  ;  money 
does  not  make  us  happy  always." 

"  No,  indeed ;  gold  does  not  always  bring  happiness  and 
peace  ;  but,  Charlotte  Howard,  forget  all  this,  and  for  my 
safety  never  mention  it  to  others.    You  will  be  rich  one  of 


192 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


these  days,  and  will  not  need  any  thing  from  poor  old 
grandma." 

"  Please  do  not  talk  so,  grandma ;  it  makes  me  feel  so 
badly  to  hear  you  insinuate  that  my  motives  in  coming  to 
see  you  are  so  mean  and  dishonorable.  If  you  had  a  mint 
of  gold  I  would  not  take  one  cent  in  payment  for  these 
visits  of  disinterested  love." 

"  No,  you  will  not  need  it,  child.  Edwin  Montaine's  son 
is  rich,  rich,  rich  !" 

i;  Mr.  Montaine's  wealth  is  nothing  to  me,"  and  the  face 
became  crimson,  the  tore  annoyed.  Then  with  a  sudden 
surprise  she  inquires  :  "  Why,  did  you  know  Mr.  Edwin 
Montaine  V 

"  Know  Edwin  Montaine  ?  Ah  !  well  did  I  know  him, 
my  child  ;  know  his  goodness,  his  charity.  He  was  the 
best  friend  I  ever  had ;  he  warmed,  fed  and  clothed  me, 
and  although  I  was  a  widow,  I  knew  not  the  meaning  of 
the  word  ;  they  were  so  good  to  me.  Then  trouble  came  ; 
she  died ;  Mr.  Montaine  sent  for  me,  and  entrusted  to  my 
care  their  child  ;  but  I  turned  and  stung  the  hand  that  was 
ever  held  out  in  kindness  to  me — betrayed  the  trust.  But 
what  am  I  saying,  child  %  Am  I  dreaming  ?  Yes ;  I  wa& 
telling  you  what  a  good  man  he  was,  and  how,  as  if  to  re- 
proach me  for  my  ungratefulness,  his  son  has  followed  my 
track.  I  saw  him  the  other  day ;  the  very  image  of  his 
sainted  young  mother ;  but  he  is  of  good  stock,  my  child, 
and  I  hope  to  live  to  see  you  his  bride  and  to  reign  mistress 
over  his  grand  home,  to  take  the  place  of  his  beautiful 
mother." 

Charlotte  Howard  listened  full  of  curiosity,  but  feeling 
uncomfortable  at  the  continued  allusion  to  Louis  Montaine 
and  herself,  she  interrupted  the  old  woman,  saying : 

"  Grandma,  Louis  Montaine  is  engaged  to  marry  hi& 
cousin,  and  please  do  not  talk  about  him  ever  being  any 
thing  else  to  me  than  what  he  is  now — a  friend  only  ;  I  do 
not  like  to  hear  it." 

"  Marry  his  cousin  ?  Did  you  say  that,  child  ?  Ah,  no 
indeed !    If  my  dreams  mean  any  thing,  you  will  be  hi& 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


193 


bride.  Three  times  did  I  see  you  last  night,  happy,  smiling 
and  beautiful,  attired  in  trailing  white  satin,  rich  lace  and 
glittering  jewels.  Three  times  did  you  turn  your  bright 
eyes,  full  of  joy,  upon  me,  and  when  I  asked  you  who  the 
bridegroom  was,  you  whispered,  4  Louis  Montaine.'  Ah 
my  child,  he  will  never  wed  any  one  but  you  ;  depend  on 
old  grandma's  dreams  coming  out  right.'' 

Charlotte  Howard  looked  upon  the  old  woman,  wonder- 
ing and  uneasy.  A  sudden  gleam  of  some  delicious  hope 
came  to  her  face,  but  vanished  as  quickly,  and  with  a  con- 
strained laugh  she  said,  "  I  have  no  faith  in  dreams,  they 
are  only  disordered  fancies  of  the  mind.  I  think  it  very 
likely  that  Mr.  Montaine  will  marry  his  cousin,  and  it  is 
best  always  not  to  pay  any  attention  to  these  night 
thoughts.  But,  grandma,  I  must  see  about  going,  dark 
comes  on  so  rapidly  and  I  have  quite  a  long  walk.  See,  I 
have  brought  you  a  mince-pie,  some  jelly  and  cake,  and  a 
delicious  bunch  of  grapes  for  your  dessert  to-morrow.  I 
-will  come  again  very  soon,  and  will  scold  Masie  for  neg- 
lecting you  of  late.  You  know,  if  I  go  away  to  school  it 
will  not  be  until  January,  so  I  will  have  plenty  of  time  in 
which  to  pay  you  many  a  pleasant  visit  before  then,  so 
good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,  my  child,"  she  replied,  holding  the  little 
hand  in  a  firm  clasp;  "but  before  you  go  promise  not  to 
say  one  word  of  what  you  have  heard  this  afternoon  ;  my 
mind  has  been  wandering,  and  for  your  dear  life  never 
mention  to  Louis  Montaine  that  I  knew  his  father.  I  do 
not  want  him  to  come  here,  above  all  others." 

"  I  never  repeat  what  you  tell  me,  aud  promise  not  to 
say  a  word  of  this  to  Mr.  Montaine ;  so  now  trust  me,  and 
again,  good-bye." 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  Charlotte  Howard 
regained  the  street  and  felt  the  fresh  air  fan  her  cheek.  A 
serious  expression  pervaded  her  face  and  a  wondering, 
troubled  look  shone  from  her  eyes  as  her  thoughts  dwelt 
musingly  on  what  she  had  heard.  It  was  the  first  time 
Mrs.  Hayes  had  ever  alluded  to  her  past  life,  and  it  filled 


194 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


the  girl  with  a  strange  curiosity  and  engrossed  her  thoughts 
so  completely  that  she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  it 
was  getting  quite  dusk,  and  was  only  brought  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  it  by  hearing  a  quick  step  behind  her,  and,  turning, 
she  confronted  Louis  Montaine.  With  a  bow  and  slight 
confusion  of  manner,  he  said,  "  Good  evening,  Miss  How- 
ard ;  I  was  in  at  Mr.  Leigh's  office  as  you  passed,  and  seeing 
it  rather  late  for  yon  to  be  out  so  far  from  home,  I  took  the 
liberty  of  following  you  to  see  if  I  could  be  of  any  service. 
Will  you  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  escorting  you  home?" 

u  I  will  thank  you  to  do  so,  Mr.  Montaine ;  I  was  think- 
ing so  deeply  that  I  forgot  entirely  it  was  getting  so  late," 
and  a  merry  laugh  rippled  out  on  the  still  evening  air. 
"And  do  please  let  us  walk  fast  for  mamma  will  feel 
uneasy,  especially  as  she  knows  that  I  went  to  see  old  Mrs. 
Hayes,  for  Aunt  Lucy  declares  that  she  will  kill  me  some 
time.  Every  one  seems  to  fear  the  old  lady,  but  I  am  not 
afraid  of  her  ;  although  her  manner  is  very  rough,  1  believe 
she  is  as  harmless  as  a  little  child." 

"  I  saw  this  old  protege  of  yours  the  other  day,  for  the 
first  time,  and  my  opinion  of  her  is  that  she  is  a  little 
demented.  I  think  you  are  rather  daring  to  visit  her  alone, 
Miss  Lottie.  She  was  standing  in  the  post-office,  and  as  I 
came  in  she  started  back,  exclaiming,  '  The  very  image  of 
her  !  The  very  image  of  her!  Is  it  the  ghost  come  to  haunt 
me?'  and  with  that  she  rushed  out.  I  concluded  it  was 
some  insane  person,  but  your  brother  told  me  it  was  old 
Mrs.  Hayes." 

*  Charlotte  Howard  laughed  strangely  and  said,  "I  do  not 
think  her  insane,  but  will  in  the  future  use  precaution  and 
never  go  to  visit  her  without  taking  Masie  with  me." 
Then,  doubtless  wishing  to  change  the  subject,  she  asked, 
"  I  thought  that  yon  was  one  of  the  croquet  party  at  the 
parsonage  this  afternoon  ?" 

"You  are  correct ;  I  was  there  for  a  while  and  went 
through  the  game  passively,  but  having  some  important 
business  to  transact  before  night,  had  to  excuse  myself. 
But  why  did  you  absent  yourself  ?    You  was  missed  pain- 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


fully  by  many  of  the  party  and  Florence  seemed  very  angry 
with  you,  declaring  that  she  intended  to  scold  you  well.'* 

"  I  am  willing  to  receive  it,  as  I  know  what  her  scoldings 
are,''  and  the  girl  laughed  lightly.  "  But,  answering  your 
question,  [  had  very  good  reasons  for  absenting  myself. 
Our  life  is  not  all  a  plaything,  duties  are  upon  us,  whether 
we  wish  to  see  them  or  not,  and  the  world  would  he  much 
happier  and  better  regulated  if  we,  each  of  us,  tried  to  do 
our  duty  faithfully." 

"Yes,  you  are  right;  the  world  would  be  much  better 
and  happier  if  we  were  all  like  you.  I  imagine  your  words 
convey  some  significance,  but  I  fail  to  take  it  in  clearly. 
Am  I  neglecting  some  important  duty  which  your  heart 
censures  ?" 

"  1  would  rather  be  excused  replying  to  the  last,  Mr. 
Montaine.  Had  you  not  best  ask  your  own  heart  that 
question  ?" 

"  I  understand  what  you  mean,  but  can  not  you  be  mer- 
ciful to  me,  Miss  Lottie  ?"  and  his  voice  was  full  of  a  pain- 
ful pathos.  "  I  know  I  am  deserving  of  your  censure,  but 
do  pardon  my  weakness  and  seeming  presumption.  God 
alone  only  knows  how  I  suffer,  feeling  that  you  despise  me, 
and  that  you  treat  me  coldly  and  with  distrust,  when  you 
are  gentle  and  tender  to  every  one  else  but  poor,  unfor- 
tunate me.  Can  not  you  forgive  me  the  crime  of  loving 
you  ?" 

"  Mr.  Montaine,  am  I  not  acting  in  conformity  with  your 
desire?  Did  you  not  tell  me  in  the  letter  you  left  that  you 
would  do  your  duty  to  your  betrothed  wife,  and  that  if  you 
wavered,  by  coldness  I  must  recall  you  to  your  duty?  I  am 
sorry  to  be  compelled  to  say  that  your  conduct  is  very 
strange  and  seemingly  dishonorable.  Your  behavior  yes- 
terday afternoon  and  just  now,  was  by  no  means  compati- 
ble and  reflects  on  your  honor  and  truth.  I  can  not  even 
be  your  friend  if  you  will  not  keep  within  the  bounds  of 
that  friendship." 

"I know  I  deserve  all  this,  but  it  is  so  hard  to  hear  you 
say  such  bitter  things  against  me.    You  would  let  a  dog 


196 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


kiss  your  hand  without  complaint.  But  Miss  Lottie,"  he 
continued  passionately,  "  I  do  try  to  act  right  and  do  my 
duty  in  trying  to  be  true  to  my  betrothed  wife,  but  my 
feelings  will  get  the  better  of  me.  The  more  I  try  to  keep 
down  this  unfortunate  love,  the  more  you  treat  me  coldly 
and  cruelly,  the  hotter  and  fiercer  it  burns.  I  can  not  keep 
it  in  subjection.  Let  me  love  you,  Charlotte  Howard,  even 
if  it  is  a  sin,  and  do  not  shun  me  as  you  do,  for  it  is  this  that 
makes  me  mad.  I  am  a  horrible  reprobate,  a  mad  fool  to 
talk  thus  and  distress  you  so,  but  I  can  not  help  it.  This 
torture  is  terrible !  If  you  would  only  think  well  of  me,  and 
treat  me  kindly,  it  would  not  be  so  hard  to  bear,  it  would 
alleviate  it  somewhat,  but  to  know  that  you  scorn  me  is 
terrible." 

How  the  girl's  heart  beat  and  throbbed  within  her 
breast !  How  she  longed  to  throw  herself  in  his  arms  and 
whisper  the  truth  :  "Louis  I  love  you  !"  But  his  lover-like 
conduct  and  devotion  to  his  cousin  the  afternoon  before 
was  branded  with  indelible  pain  upon  her  heart,  and  she 
could  not  help  doubting  the  sincerity  of  his  avowal  of  love. 
She  felt  the  arm  her  hand  rested  upon  tremble  violently, 
his  breath  came  quick  and  fast,  and  even  in  the  dusk  she 
saw  the  old  passionate  gleam  in  his  intense  eyes,  full  of  a 
pleading  questioning  bent  upon  her  pale,  suffering  face. 
The  prompting  of  her  heart  wTas  to  believe  him ;  but  he 
did  not  question  if  she  loved  him.  Maidenly  reserve,  a 
fear  for  the  result  of  such  a  confession  from  her,  and  the 
painful,  ever  present  doubt  of  his  honorable  sincerity,  held 
lier  in  check.  Yesterday,  the  devoted  lover  of  Irene  Bur- 
goyne,  now,  under  the  cover  of  nightfall,  when  alone  with 
her,  he  would  play  the  lover  to  her.  Charlotte  Howard's 
pride  is  aroused,  her  pure,  honest  love  is  insulted,  the 
thought,  like  a  torturing  brand,  takes  possession  of  her 
mind,  "he  only  wishes  to  flirt  with  me,"  and  drawing  away 
from  him  coldly,  she  said :  "Mr.  Montaine,  I  am  so  sorry 
to  have  this  painful  scene  enacted  between  us  again  so 
soon.  I  am  deeply  pained,  indignant,  sorrowful,  from  your 
conduct,  and  if  you  cannot,  or  will  not  behave  yourself,  as 


Mrs.  Hayes. 


197 


a  gentleman,  I  must  beg  that  you  keep  clear  of  my  pathway. 
I  am  sorry  for  you,  and  sorry  for  Miss  Burgoyne,  and  will 
pray  to  God  that  you  may  see  your  error,  and  that  you  will 
in  the  future  become  truer  to  the  girl  that  has  confided  her 
heart,  her  honor,  and  her  all,  into  your  keeping.  I  am 
grieved  to  be  compelled  to  say  all  this,  and  to  lose  faith  in 
one  I  thought  to  be  a  gentleman,  a  Christian,  a  lowly  fol- 
lower of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  a  true  type  of  manhood.  It 
is  very  certain  that  you  are  trifling  with  your  cousin,  or  else 
trying  to  trifle  with  me,  and  I  must  beg  that  in  the  future 
you  will  not  insult  me  again  by  another  occurrence  of  this 
kind.  It  is  not  right  nor  gentlemanly  in  you,  and  I  know 
that  your  good  sense  will  show  you  I  am  right,  and  expi- 
ate me  from  undue  harshness.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
you  for  escorting  me  home,  but  very  sorry  the  kindness  has 
occasioned  this  break  of  our  friendship,  for  I  must  beg 
that  you  avoid  my  company  henceforth,  and  that  you  return 
to  your  fidelity  as  the  lover  and  affianced  husband  of  Miss 
Burgoyne.  I  trust  you  will  not  think  me  unkind,  your  con- 
duct merits  harsh  means.  Good  bye." 

With  a  deep,  painful  groan,  Louis  Montaine  sank  down 
on  reaching  his  room,  and  folding  his  arms  across  a  table, 
sat  like  one  benumbed  with  a  hopeless,  poignant  despair. 
All  that  night  he  tossed  upon  his  sleepless  couch,  wishing, 
almost  praying,  for  death  ;  but  death  did  not  come,  and  the 
morning  breaking,  he  knew  that  he  must  go  forth  and  battle 
with  his  anguish  of  soul.  Feeling  that  he  was  misunder- 
stood and  wronged,  yet  daring  not  to  attempt  an  under- 
standing. "She  will  not  believe  me;  I  stand  branded  by 
my  own  conduct ;  she  scorns  me,  and  all  I  have  to  do  is  to 
bear  it,  and  bear  it  uncomplainingly." 

Thus  he  thought  and  reasoned,  and  the  days  came  and 
went,  and  he  made  no  attempt  to  undeceive  the  unjust  im- 
pression Charlotte  Howard  held  against  him.  Ever  stu- 
dious, he  became  even  more  so ;  his  entire  time  and 
thoughts  becoming  centered  on  and  devoted  to  his  books. 
His  stern  face  grew  sterner,  his  eyes  deeper  and  more 
intense,  disclosing  a  suffering  but  unrepining  heart.  A 
13 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


cold,  hasty  bow  was  the  only  greeting  Charlotte  Howard 
received  from  him  when  they  chanced  to  meet,  which  was 
not  often,  for  they  seemed  studiously  to  avoid  each  other. 
He  kept  clear  of  her  pathway,  but  ah !  what  misery  it  was. 
How  he  longed  to  linger  near  her,  to  hear  the  sound  of  her 
sweet  voice  he  loved  so  well !  but  he  dared  not  attempt  any 
reconciliation  ;  he  saw  no  encouragement  on  the  calm  and, 
as  he  fancied,  unforgiving  face  of  the  girl.  He  tried  hard, 
struggled  to  reconcile  his  obstinate  mind  to  the  fact  that 
he  must  give  her  up,  but  found  it  a  difficult,  nay,  impossi- 
ble thing  to  banish  her  image  from  his  heart,  or  to  cool  the 
burning,  intense  passion  for  her,  and  turn,  as  his  stern 
duty  demanded,  with  something  like  tolerance  to  his  cousin 
and  affianced  wife.  Working  and  study  seemed  his  only 
6olace,  and  Irene,  knowing  it  was  no  use  to  scold,  had  to  be 
satisfied,  for  she  had  learned  to  her  sorrow  and  chagrin, 
that  his  will  was  law;  but  very  keenly  she  felt  and  suffered 
from  his  automatic  sort  of  courtship,  the  thought  ever 
present,  haunting  her  peace  and  happiness,  that  he  had 
ceased  to  love  her,  or  was  making  his  love  subservient  to 
his  ambition. 

And  thus  the  days  dragged  wearily  by.  November  went 
and  December  came,  yet  bringing  no  alleviation  to  the 
unhappy  trio,  carrying  their  sad  memories  andsecret  heart- 
aches. Two  hearts  with  bitter  anguish  to  hide  and  curb, 
though  waves  of  sunlight  sometimes  tried  to  obliterate  the 
traces,  yet  darkness  and  rugged  rocks  ever  lurked  below. 
Ah  !  the  anguish  of  the  one — striving  with  his  heart  to 
prove  the  strife  of  his  honor  and  love  ;  the  other  striving 
with  patient  pain  to  beat  down  and  keep  in  subjection  the 
love  that  would  not  be  crushed  out  of  her  large,  loving 
heart,  and  the  third  and  innocent  cause  of  it  all  as  misera- 
ble, perhaps,  as  the  two. 

Ah!  gracious  Father.  Methinks  it  is  Thy  decree  that  the 
children  of  earth  must  drink  the  cup  of  bitterness  and 
woe  to  prove  that  this  mortal  life  is  only  a  time  of  proba- 
tion and  suffering,  for  if  we  tasted  Heaven's  bliss  here,  how 
could  we  feel  and  appreciate  the  glory  and  happiness  of 


Mrs.  Hayes.  199 

Paradise,  when,  our  weary,  dissatisfied  pilgrimage  past, 
Thou  callest  our  immortalized  bodies  upon  high,  to  realize 
what  Thou  hast  in  reserve  for  us  in  the  many  mansions 
where  Christ  Jesus  has  gone  to  dwell ! 


SAVED. 


fxPELLED  by  the  unkind  speech  of  Miss  Lafonte,  and  the 
insinuations  against  her  respectability,  from  the  only 
house  which  she  could  call  home,  in  a  strange  city,  so  full 
of  lurking  evils  and  alluring  temptations,  to  the  young  and 
inexperienced,  Lila,  with  fear  and  trembling,  walked  the 
streets,  alone  and  despairing,  in  search  of  another  place  of 
shelter ;  but  in  vain  she  sought,  and  after  an  hour  of  una- 
vailing walking  and  inquiring,  and  overcome  with  fear  and 
fatigue,  she  determined  to  retrace  her  steps,  and  beg  Miss 
Lafonte  for  shelter  for  one  night  longer.  Walking  rapidly, 
her  head  bent  low,  her  heart  almost  pulseless  from  the  ter- 
ror of  her  situation,  alone  on  the  street  after  nightfall,  the 
distracted  girl  felt  a  sensation  of  horror,  and  yet  of  relief, 
too,  thrill  her  being,  as  on  turning  a  corner  she  was  sud- 
denly confronted  by  Horace  Burgoyne.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments he  understood  her  tale  of  distress  and  wrongs,  and 
very  respectfully,  politely  and  kindly  offered  to  escort  her  to 
a  boarding  houee,  or  a  hotel.  In  desperation,  Lila  accepted 
his  protection,  and  drawing  her  arm  within  his,  together 
they  turned  down  the  street. 

A  half  hour  later  she  was  alone,  in  a  handsome,  stylishly 
furnished  apartment,  the  betrothed  bride  of  a  man  she 
utterly  loathed  and  feared.  And,  with  a  shudder,  she 
tried  to  put  the  thought  aside,  saying  again  and  again,  as  if 
to  convince  herself  that  it  was  really  so,  "Am  I  sure  that 
I  have  promised  to  marry  this  man  day  after  to-morrow, 
when  he  will  come  to  claim  me  as  his  bride  ?  Oh  !  my 
God,  if  I  dare  to  call  upon  Thee,  I  ask  to  be  protected 
from  this  fearful  necessity,  from  this  terrible  dread,  which 
oppresses  me  so  heavily.  I  have  promised  to  marry  him, 
and  flee  with  him  to  France,  but  how  can  I  keep  to  this 


Saved. 


20 1 


horrible  contract  ?  and  yet,  and  yet,  it  is  the  only  way,  the 
surest  way,  of  avenging  my  wrongs.  It  will  humiliate  her, 
the  proud,  lying  upstart.  Yea,  I  will  sacrifice  my 
wretched  life,  I  am  willing  to  endure  anything  to  see  her 
punished.  Not  sleep  under  the  same  roof  with  me  another 
night,  eh  ?  Oh,  proud  girl,  just  wait,  wait  until  you  hear 
the  astounding  news,  that  I  am  your  step-mother,  and  see 
then,  what  I  can  do !  She  has  lied  against  and  wronged 
me,  robbed  me  of  all  that  could  make  life  endurable  and 
desirable,  and  1  will  see  what  I  can  do  to  pay  her  back  in 
her  own  coin  ;  try  and  make  her  feel  what  she  has  inflicted 
upon  me,  blasted  my  fair  fame,  ruined  me  for  life  ;  yea,  if 
all  else  is  bitter,  my  revenge  will  be  sweet." 

And  with  this  final  resolve  she  retired  to  her  couch,  but 
not  to  enjoy  the  calm,  peaceful  slumber  of  an  undefiled  and 
sacredly  guarded  habitation  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

A  leaden  weight  seemed  to  press  on  her  spirits  the  next 
morning  ;  yet,  with  undaunted  pertinacity,  she  would  not 
swerve  from  her  sudden,  fully  matured  determination  of 
vengeance,  never  dreaming  of  turning  from  the  Evil  One ; 
but  bent  on  her  wicked  purpose  she  wrote  the  notes  spoken 
of  in  a  preceding  chapter,  and  after  receiving  her  clothes 
from  Miss  Lafonte,  began  a  hasty  preparation  for  her  con- 
templated trip  to  gay  France. 

Going  out  that  morning  to  make  a  few  purchases,  she 
entered  a  store,  and  the  proprietor  being  quite  busy,  serving 
a  gentleman  customer,  Lila  seated  herself  to  await  her  turn, 
and  providentially  overheard  a  few  words  which  completely 
changed  the  anticipated  current  of  her  life.  In  a  confi- 
dential whisper  she  heard  the  former  say,  with  a  laugh : 

"  How,  come,  do  not  be  afraid  it  is  a  stolen  jewel ;  this 
is  not  the  store  in  which  Mr.  Burgoyne  disposes  of  his 
stolen  goods,"  and  then  the  other,  with  a  knowing  wink, 
made  answer : 

"  I  hope  not.  Did  you  hear  that  piece  of  scandal  from 
high  life?" 

"Why,  of  course;  it  is  whispered  all  about,  and  is 
pretty  generally  known,  that  he  is  a  notorious  thief,  burglar 


202 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


and  gambler.  This  affair  about  that  diamond  ring  which 
he  robbed  from  his  daughter  is  getting  broadcast  over  town, 
and  I  hear,  as  a  positive  fact,  that  his  wife's  nephew  has 
given  him  a  specified  time  in  which  to  leave  America  for- 
ever, if  he  wishes  to  keep  out  of  prison.  He  knows  he 
must  leave  Charleston  in  double  quick  time,  and  they  say 
he  sails  for  France  this  week.  He  will  be  a  good  riddance 
of  bad  rubbish,  1  am  sure.  Horace  Burgoyne  is  a  devil  in 
human  guise,  and  he  is  walking,  step  by  step,  to  the  gal- 
lows. Murder  will  be  the  next  charge  laid  at  his  door,  and 
then  good  bye  to  the  gentleman  rogue." 

"  That  is  the  fact,  and  France,  of  all  countries,  will  speed- 
ily carry  him  to  his  deserved  end.  But  how  is  it  about  this 
ring,  is  the  stone  a  genuine  ruby,  or  only  an  imitation?" 

Lila  had  heard  sufficient.  Trembling,  nervous,  her  face 
ashen  hued,  her  heart  throbbing  tumultuously,  she  made 
her  way  from  the  store  regardless  of  the  call  from  its  mas- 
ter that  he  would  attend  to  her  at  once,  made  her  way  out 
into  the  street,  almost  suffocated  with  the  horrible  fear  at 
her  heart,  and  almost  mad  with  the  one  wild  desire  now  to 
escape  the  terrible  doom  impending  over  her  fated  head. 

Arriving  at  the  hotel,  she  made  her  way  up  to  her  apart- 
ment. The  object  meeting  her  view  first,  was  a  neat  pack- 
age lying  on  her  table  addressed  to  herself.  Taking  it  up, 
she  broke  the  seal,  and  started  back  in  affright  as  on  opening 
the  case  a  superb  set  of  jewels  met  her  gaze ;  a  slip  of  pa- 
per fluttered  to  the  floor,  and  taking  it  up  she  read  : 

My  bridal  gift  to  my  adorable  girl,  my  almost  bride.  Wear  tbem  to- 
morrow, darling,  and  gratify  your  adoring  Horace, 

With  a  stifled  cry  of  horror  the  frightened  penitent 
threw  herself  on  her  knees,  and  the  wild  cry  went  up  to 
heaven,  "Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me,  a  miserable  sinner. 
Help,  Lord,  ere  I  perish  !" 

Was  it  an  answer  to  her  prayer,  or  an  interposition  of 
Providence,  or  the  subtle  power  of  Satan  leading  her  on, 
on  to  destruction  ?  Certainly  it  was  some  unseen  power 
prompted  the  thought,  for,  something  entirely  foreign  to  her, 


Saved. 


203 


Lila  took  up  the  morning  paper,  her  object  being,  doubt- 
less, to  distract  her  well-nigh  distracted  thoughts.  Amid 
her  fear  and  wild  desire  to  escape  this  man  she  had  prom- 
ised to  marry,  the  one  predominant  feeling  weighing  on  her 
heart  was  the  intense  longing  to  fly  away  to  some  one  for 
help,  sympathy  or  rescue.  She  would  not  believe  she  had 
even  then  a  tender,  sympathizing,  loving  Friend  above, 
who  was  even  now  feeling,  with  sympathetic  throbs,  for 
her  trial  and  sorely  tempted  fallen  nature.  Lila  was  not  a 
Christian,  but  an  unacknowledged  infideL  In  her  heart 
she  believed  Christ  but  a  myth,  the  imagined  creation  of 
human  minds  to  deceitfully  console  the  suffering  mass  of 
humanity,  moving  about  with  their  secret  loads  of  guilt 
and  sorrow,  wrongs  and  miseries. 

"If  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world,  suffered  and  died 
for  sin  and  anguish  of  soul  and  mind,  why  should  we 
suffer  so  much  and  continually?"  was  her  impertinent  rea- 
soning. "I  can  not  see  what  good  He  has  done ;  there  is 
nothing  but  torments  and  miseries  on  every  hand.  Why 
does  He  not  stop  them  ?"  were  her  foolish  mental  queries. 
And  feeling  thus,  a  very  unbeliever,  is  it  surprising  that  she 
was  so  completely  shut  off  from  all  consolation  and  help, 
divine  or  human.  The  believer's  sweet,  comforting  invita- 
tion, "Come  unto  me,"  had  no  significant  meaning  for  her, 
and  yet  the  burden,  the  mental  labor  and  unrest  which  she 
was  enduring,  was  the  very  kind  that  had  touched  this 
gentle,  sympathizing  human  heart,  and  called  forth  the  en- 
ticing exhortation,  "Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  are  weary 
and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest ;"  not  bodily  rest, 
but  rest  and  ease  for  the  weary,  heavy  laden  soul  and 
mind. 

Ah,  poor,  blind  child  of  sin,  why  not  be  wise  and  leave 
your  wrongs,  with  confiding  faith,  unto  Him  that  saith, 
"Vengeance  is  mine,"  and  not  give  your  soul  over  to  Satan's 
vile,  dishonored  bondage,  and  allow  him  to  triumph  over 
the  pure,  free  Spirit,  striving  with  you  ever,  and  yet  the 
lonely,  despairing  and  darkened  heart  of  this  child  of  sin 
could  not  altogether  be  laid  at  her  door.    As  the  heart  and 


204 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


affections  are  trained,  so  will  they  incline ;  she  had  been 
left  from  childhood  exposed  to  the  full  power  of  our  subtle 
enemy,  with  no  guiding  hand  or  a  mother's  pruning  care. 
All  the  evil  of  a  naturally  evil  nature  was  called  forth 
from  the  sad  circumstances  of  her  life ;  all,  or  nearly  all, 
the  good  implanted  there  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  crushed  out 
or  smothered  down,  and  will  not  such  an  one  fall  an  easy 
prey  to  Satan's  power?  Humanity  might  stand  aloof  and 
blame,  but  Christ  Jesus,  that  unfailing  source  of  help,  was 
watching  over  this  frail  child  of  earth,  who  stood  alone, 
shaken  by  rude  winds  on  the  very  abyss  of  destruction, 
into  which  she  would  have  fallen  if  left  unaided.  Though 
too  proud,  wise,  or,  methinks,  too  ignorant  to  fly  unto  an 
unseen  source  of  help,  Christ  pitied  and  did  not  forsake, 
giving  her  a  longer  time  of  trial  unto  repentance,  and 
would  that  sjje  had  accepted  the  mercy  and  not  made  even 
Jesus  turn  aside  and  leave  her  to  her  own  free  will. 

"When  thy  father  and  mother  forsake  thee,  then  will  I 
take  thee  up,''  and  how  could  He  turn  away  now,  when  a 
poor,  sinning,  forsaken  child  needed  His  aid  ?  when  one  of 
His  sheep,  a  wandering,  wayward,  yet  still  one  of  His  dear- 
ly bought  sheep,  was  on  the  brink  of  a  fearful  precipice, 
enough,  if  fully  known,  to  send  a  thrill  of  horror  through 
the  most  callous  heart!  What  but  a  divine,  almighty 
power  can  snatch  one  from  such  an  unseen  but  deadly  peril? 
It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  thoughts  that  swayed 
unceasingly  through  the  girl's  troubled  brain,  as  she  sat 
there  in  an  agony  of  horror,  all  crowded  into  one  darkened, 
indefinable,  confused  mass,  through  whose  clouded  mist  she 
could  see  no  way  of  escape,  understand  no  mode  of  action, 
the  one  impelling  motive,  revenge,  still  urging  her  on  to 
risk  her  life  into  the  galling  bondage  of  becoming  the  wife 
of  a  bad,  licentious  man. 

With  passive,  dulled  senses,  and  a  heart  sluggishly  beat- 
ing, on  the  very  verge  of  a  despairing  relinquishing  of 
body  and  soul  unto  the  terrible  peril  menacing  her,  she 
took  up  the  paper,  which  lay  by  her  on  the  table,  and  list- 
lessly, aimlessly  glanced  up  and  down  its  uninteresting 


Saved. 


205 


-columns.  A  long  list  of  "wants"  seemed  to  arrest  her 
attention,  and,  without  any  particular  reason,  she  perused 
one  after  the  other.  Suddenly  a  flush  of  excitement  sprang 
to  her  pale  face,  her  eyes  lighted  with  a  sudden  fire,  and 
she  read  again  the  following  : 

Wanted  immediately,  a  governess  for  two  young  girls.  To  one  compe- 
tent to  teach  the  English  branches,  French  and  music,  a  fair  salary  and 
good  home  will  be  offered ;  but  she  must  be  willing  to  leave  the  city 
to-night,  if  convenient,  to  reside  on  a  plantation  in  St.  Andrew's  Parish 
for  the  winter." 

The  almost  extinguished  embers  of  hope,  lying  upon  her 
heart's  altar,  are  instantly  re-kindled  into  aflame,  and  with  a 
brightened  face,  and  heart  lightened  from  much  of  its  load 
of  terror  and  dread,  she  rose,  and  with  a  nervous  excite- 
ment put  on  her  hat  and  hurriedly  left  the  house. 

An  hour  later  she  was  back  again,  nervously  packing  her 
few  possessions,  and  leaving  the  case  of  jewels  in  the  care 
of  the  proprietor,  and  paying  for  her  night  and  day's  board 
she  left  hastily,  carrying  herself  the  bundle  which  con- 
tained her  earthl  y  all. 

That  night  Lila  left  the  city,  as  the  employed  governess 
for  the  two  daughters  of  an  overseer  of  a  flourishing  plan- 
tation across  the  Ashley  river,  with  the  promise  of  a  com- 
fortable, pleasant  home,  the  protection  of  kind,  good  peo- 
ple, and  a  hope  of  peace,  security,  and  shall  I  say  happi- 
ness ?    Ah!  would  that  I  could. 

Horace  Burgoyne  came  for  his  bride,  but  she  had  flown, 
and  he  started  on  his  imposed  exile  alone  ;  and  Lila,  the 
despairing  wait,  was  saved  miraculously  from  this  evil. 
But,  alas  !  would  that  we  could  say  that  she  was  saved  for  a 
better,  happier,  nobler  fate. 


MAUD  AXD  SADIE  BURGOYNE. 


t  was  Christmas  Eve  ;  that  joyous,  merry  time,  which 
is  hailed  with  such  delight  once  in  every  three  hun- 
^  dred  and  sixty-five  days  in  the  Christian  world.  It  hap- 
pened to  fall  this  year  on  the  last  day  of  the  week,  and  con- 
sequently Christmas  would  come  on  the  Christian  Sabbath, 
and  would  therefore  have  to  be  celebrated  as  it  should, 
quietly,  joyously,  religiously,  and  to  make  up  for  their 
usual  festive  doings  on  that  day  the  young  people  of  S — 
determined  tg  celebrate  it  with  a  tree,  tableau  and  ball  on 
Christmas  Eve. 

The  town-hall  was  pressed  into  active  service,  and  was 
tastefully  decorated  and  brilliantly  illuminated,  the  floor 
waxed  and  a  band  of  music  in  attendance  ;  the  weather  was 
all  that  could  be  desired,  cold,  clear,  frosty,  with  a  full 
moon  to  shine  her  soft  yet  radiant  glory  over  the  earth  ; 
to  light  the  gay,  tired  revellers  home  after  their  frolic,  and 
to  usher  in  the  glorious  natal  morn  of  Christ.  But  the 
anticipated  pleasure  of  more  than  one  was  spoiled,  and  a 
visible  damper  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole  assembly,  as 
the  news  was  spread  around  that  an  accident  had  happened 
to  Louis  Montaine  that  afternoon,  and  that  he  was  quite  ill 
from  the  effects.  The  absence  of  Mrs.  Bentley  and  Miss 
Burgoyne,  the  latter  having  consented  to  act  in  the  tab- 
leau, gave  credence  to  the  rumor,  and  many  hearts  felt 
sad,  for  Louis  Montaine  was  a  general  favorite. 

A  few  days  before  a  party  of  young  men  had  gone  off 
on  a  deer  hunt,  and  returning  only  a  few  hours  before  the 
ball  very  little  was  known  about  the  accident.  Arthur 
Howard,  suffering  from  a  violent  cold  and  sore  throat,  had 
not  been  able  to  go,  and  Harry  Bentley,  not  caring  for  the 
sport,  had  also  declined  joining  the  party,  and  so  Charlotte, 


Maud  and  Sadie  Burgoyne. 


207 


the  one  who  felt  most  keenly  the  news,  yet  dared  not  show 
or  express  her  terrible  anxiety  and  heart-sick  fears,  had 
only  heard  *liat  he  had  been  shot,  but  whether  fatally  or 
slightly  she  could  not  learn.  Launched  against  her  incli- 
nation into  the  sea  of  fun  and  gaiety,  she  had  to  laugh, 
smile  and  dance;  but  ah,  how  sad  and  anxious  she  was  at 
heart  no  one  but  the  all-seeing  Eye  above  knew.  How  she 
envied  Miss  Burgoyne  her  dear  privilege  of  remaining 
away  and  being  able  to  linger  at  his  side  and  minister  unto 
his  sufferings  !  He  was  ever  before  her  mental  vision  as 
he  started  on  the  morning  of  their  departure,  looking  so 
handsome  and  distingue  as  he  rode  off  from  their  gate 
(having  called  for  her  brother)  on  a  spirited,  handsome 
horse,  with  his  polished  hunting  trappings  and  jaunty  black 
fur  cap  placed  saucily  on  his  dark,  shapely  head.  He  had 
bowed  and  smiled  an  adieu  to  them  as  they  sjood  upon  the 
piazza,  her  mother,  brother  and  herself,  and  the  girl  fancied 
that  his  last  glance,  an  earnest,  inquiring  glance,  had  rested 
upon  her  as  he  rode  away  saying,  "  I  am  so  sorry,  How- 
ard, that  you  cannot  go." 

Charlotte  smiled  and  waltzed,  glided  and  polkaed,  but 
said  very  little,  thinking  of  the  la6t  Christmas  Eve,  how 
happy  and  joyous  she  was  then,  dreaming  of  the  handsome, 
fascinating  boy  whom  she  had  met  on  the  cars,  and  who  had 
become  a  living,  delightful  secret  of  her  young  heart.  And 
now,  what  a  change  one  year  had  wrought !  How  saddened 
and  dark  all  was  now  !  Her  romance  had  ripened  far  too 
prematurely,  fading  away  all  too  soon,  leaving  a  hopeless 
lethargy  and  bitter,  bitter  heart-ache.  How  early  had  earth's 
blight  fallen  upon  her  bright  young  life  ! 

"Miss  Charlotte,  please  give  me  this  last  chance,  it  is 
half -past  eleven,  so  1  do  not  dare  to  hope  for  another  for 
they  will  break  up  before  twelve  ?"  and  Walter  Hayne, 
eager  and  anxious,  stood  before  Charlotte  Howard  as  couples 
for  the  last  waltz  were  rapidly  filling  the  space  for  dancing. 

"  Mr.  Hayne,  I  really  must  beg  you  to  excuse  me  for  I 
can  not  dance  another  set  to-night,  I  am  so  tired,  and  my 
head  is  beginning  to  ache.    Remember  that  I  have  been 


208 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


working  all  day,  assisting  in  dressing  the  church  and  decora- 
ting the  tree." 

"JSow,  Miss  Charlotte,  that  is  too  disappointing,  and  I 
am  very  sorry  to  hear  that  you  had  it  so  hard  to-day.  Miss 
Walters  was  scalding  me  just  now  for  lingering  so  late  on 
the  hunt,  but  we  really  could  not  get  in  any  sooner  without 
leaving  Montaine  behind  us  ;  he  was  suffering  so  from  his 
wTound  that  he  could  not  ride  horseback  and  we  just  had  a 
tug  to  find  a  buggy,'' 

"  Was  Mr.  Montaine  serioasly  shot?''  Charlotte  asked, 
vainly  striving  to  hide  her  painful  anxiety. 

"  O  no,  it  is  nothing  dangerous,  but  quite  painful  it 
seems.  You  see,  the  trouble  was  that  no  physician  could 
be  found.  Several  buckshot  entered  his  left  arm  and  shoul- 
der and  not  having  them  extracted  at  once  the  part  became 
terribly  swollen  and  inflamed  and  he  suffered  horribly  to- 
night in  having  them  extracted.  1  was  there  about  an 
hour  with  him  and  when  I  left  he  had  quite  a  high  fever, 
but  the  doctor  says  he  will  be  all  right  to-morrow." 

"  How  did  it  happen,  Mr.  Hayne  ?" 

"  I  do  not  like  to  tell  you  ;  but  suppose  you  will  hear 
finally  so  I  may  as  well  turn  informer.  One  of  the  young 
men,  Montaine  refused  to  give  his  name,  but  I  feel  pretty 
sure  who  he  was,  aimed  his  gun  directly  at  me,  no  doubt 
with  the  intention  of  killing  me.  My  back  was  turned,  and 
it  seemed  that  Louis  Montaine,  seeing  the  murderous  in- 
tent, leaned  forward  to  push  me  out  of  the  way,  and  thus 
received  the  shot  intended  for  me  in  his  arm  and  shoulder. 
He  begged  me  not  to  speak  of  it  to  any  one,  but  I  feel  so 
grateful  to  him,  and  so  thankful  for  my  escape,  that  I  can 
not  keep  my  tongue  quiet." 

Charlotte  Howard's  face  was  white  widi  horror  as  she 
gasped,  -  Why,  Mr.  Hayne,  you  horrify  me !  One  of  the 
young  men  intended  to  kill  you  ?  What  could  make  you 
think  of  such  a  thing?" 

The  young  man  laughed,  and,  looking  significantly  into 
the  face  of  the  girl,  said  :  "  The  old  tale,  you  know,  Miss 
Lottie,  a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it.    A  very  desperate 


Maud  and  Sadie  Burgoyne. 


rival  of  mine  took  it  in  his  head  to  get  me  out  of  the  way 
accidentally,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  Montaine  1  might 
now  be  lying  in  the  silent  tomb." 

"You  talk  very  trifling  about  such  a  serious  matter," 
was  the  solemn  reply,  Charlotte  Howard  looking  disgusted, 
while  a  flush  mantled  cheek  and  brow,  "  and  I  am  very 
sorry  to  hear  that  you  think  of  such  a  thing.  I  do  not 
think  any  one  could  have  had  such  a  murderous  intention, 
you  must  be  mistaken." 

"  It  is  not  me  that  is  mistaken,  then.  Montaine,  with  a 
face  horrified  with  what  he  saw,  sprang  forward  and  pushed 
me  out  of  the  way,  then,  with  an  exclamation  of  dismay, 
said,  'I  am  shot  in  your  stead,  Hayne,  beware,  your  life  is 
in  danger!'  and  he  fainted.  To-night  he  told  me  the  same 
thing,  but  begged  that  I  would  keep  quiet  and  not  mention 
it,  and  here  I  have  just  gone  and  told  every  thing  and 
alarmed  you  so.  Please,  Miss  Lottie,  think  no  more  about 
it,  and  I  will  for  your  sake  never  mention  it  again." 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  it  ?"  she  asked  sternly,  her  very 
lips  growing  white,  a  horrible  suspicion  at  her  heart. 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  with  a  sig- 
nificant smile,  said,  "  Oh !  nothing  particularly,  and  dor 
please,  forget  all  about  it,  no  harm  has  been  done.  Mon- 
taine will  be  out  at  church  to-morrow,  and  he  would  be 
just  mad  to  know  what  I  have  done.  He  begged  me  es- 
pecially not  to  breathe  a  word  of  it  to  you  ;  and  see  what  a 
fool  I  have  been  !  Do  not  look  so  frightened,  Miss  Lottie,, 
nothing  awful  has  happened." 

"I  think  something  awful  has  happened.  The  very 
thought  is  terrible,  and  Mr.  Hayne,  will  you  please  to  sat- 
isfy me  by  answering  my  question  ?  Your  significant  man- 
ner implies  as  much  as  direct  words  would.  Am  I  in  any 
way  connected  with  this  horrible  affair  V 

"Pshaw!  Miss  Lottie,  you  would  make  such  a  serious 
matter  out  of  nothing ;  I  am  not  going  to  say  another  word 
about  it ;  you  are  just  trying  to  tangle  me  up  so  that  I  do 
not  know  what  I  am  saying." 

"  I  wish  to  be  answered,  Mr.  Hayne.  Am  I  correct  in 
my  suspicion  that  it  was  cousin  Willie  ? " 


2IO 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"I  tell  you,  Miss  Lottie,  Montaine  would  not  give  me 
his  name.  I  suspected  Courtney,  for  he  is  my  sworn  enemy 
and  only  known  rival." 

"  Oh  !  my,  how  horrible  !"  and  the  girl  clasped  her  hands 
with  a  shudder,  while  her  face  grew  deadly  white.  Then, 
with  an  earnest  entreaty,  she  said  :  "  Mr.  ELayne,  will  you 
promise  me,  faithfully,  never  to  mention  this  affair  by  word 
or  look  to  another ;  I  will  speak  to  Willie,  he  is  so  pas- 
sionate and  impulsive.  But,  by  all  you  hold  dear,  please 
never  mention  this  suspicion  to  any  one.  I  feel  that  I  can 
trust  it  with  Mr.  Montaine." 

"  And  you  can  trust  it  with  me  also,  Miss  Lottie.  I 
promise  you  faithfully  never  to  say  nor  insinuate  one  word 
of  it  again.    Will  you  trust  me  ? '' 

"  Yes,  I  will  trust  you.  It  would  kill  poor  aunt  Addie 
to  hear  of  such  a  thing.  "  Oh  !  1  am  so  sick  to  even  think 
of  such  a  possibility.  Just  imagine  the  horror  if  he  had 
killed  Mr.  Montaine  !  You  do  not  think  him  in  any  danger, 
Mr.  Hayne?" 

"  Walter  Hayne's  face  was  black  with  sudden  jealousy, 
as  he  queried  scornfully,  "  And,  I  suppose,  it  would  have 
been  nothing  of  any  consequenee  if  he  had  killed  me  ?" 

"  You  misinterpret  my  words,  Mr.  Hayne.  But  do  let 
us  change  this  painful  subject.  I  see  brother  is  ready  to 
go;  so  I  will  bid  you  good  night,  Mr.  Hayne,  and  wish  you 
a  very  merry  and  happy  Christmas  ;  you  are  going  home,  I 
believe,  to  spend  the  holiday  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  be  home  to  eat  dinner  to-morrow,  I  guess  ; 
so  thanking  you  for  your  g-x)d  wishes,  I  will  extend  the 
same  to  you,  and  hope  that  you  will  have  a  very  pleasant 
and  merry  Christmas.    Goodbye  for  a  few  days." 

"  Goodbye,  Mr.  Hayne,  you  will  keep  faith  with  me  ?  " 

"  For  your  sake,  I  promise  never  to  mention  the  subject 
again." 

During  the  walk  home  Charlotte  broached  the  subject 
of  the  shooting  of  Louis  Montaine,  and  after  quite  a  lengthy 
talk  over  the  unfortunate  affair,  learned  to  her  great  relief 
that  both  her  brother  and  Florence  knew  nothing  about  it, 
further  than  that  it  was  an  accident. 


Maud  and  Sadie  Burgoyne.  211 


Bidding  Florence  goodbye  at  her  gate,  Arthur  said  : 
u  Lottie,  I  would  like  to  go  in  and  see  how  Louis  is  getting 
on,  so  come  in  a  minute  and  wait  on  me,  please.  I  see  a 
light  in  the  parlor,  and  suppose  some  one  is  up  down- 
stairs." 

"  Yes,  come  in  Lottie  ;  maybe  we  can  catch  some  one.  I 
hear  it  striking  twelve  now,"  and  on  tip-toe  the  two  girls 
went  in,  followed  by  Arthur,  and  to  their  surprise,  who 
should  be  sitting  propped  up  on  the  sofa,  reading  quite 
unconcernedly,  but  Louis  Montaine  himself  !  He  laughed 
quite  merrily,  seeing  their  looks  of  surprise,  and  a  flush 
came  to  his  pale,  sad  face,  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  girl 
whom  he  loved  so  hopelessly.  The  sudden  relief  to  see  him 
sitting  up,  when  she  thought  him  so  ill,  made  Charlotte, 
impulsive  as  she  ever  was,  give  a  start,  and  with  a  glad 
smile  on  her  face  she  held  out  her  hand  exclaiming  : 

"  Merry  Christmas,  Mr.  Montaine  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  merry  Christmas  !  "  "  Merry  Christmas  !  " 
echoed  Florence  and  Arthur,  the  former  merrily,  laughing- 
ly saying,  "Ah,  Louis,  caught  by  three  at  once,"  the  latter 
exclaiming  "  Halloo  !  old  fellow,  I  thought  you  were  dying 
from  the  buck-shot,  and  here  he  is  sitting  up  reading  love- 
letters." 

Louis  Montaine  laughed  quite  heartily  as  he  replied, 
"They  all  tried  to  make  me  think  that  I  was  wounded  terri- 
bly, but  since  the  two  shots  were  extracted  I  have  not  felt  the 
least  inconvenience.  Mrs.  Bentley  went  to  bed  an  hour  ago, 
leaving  old  Sara  to  nurse  me,  but,  negro-like,  she  made  up  a 
rousing  oak  fire  and  went  to  sleep  before  it.  I  awoke  just 
now  nearly  roasted  alive,  and  had  to  run  down  here  to  save 
my  life,  and  to  my  surprise  found  on  the  table  a  letter  from 
my  little  cousins,  who  are  at  school  in  North  Carolina.  And 
now  I  will  have  to  give  you  all  a  present  for  the  merry 
Christmas." 

"Of  course  you  will,"  laughed  Florence.  "My  piano, 
you  know,  is  due." 

"All  right,  you  will  get  your  piano  in  due  time,  and,  Miss 
Charlotte,  will  you  accept  this  bouquet  ?    I  received  a  box 


212 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


of  choice  hot-house  flowers  from  home  this  evening,"  and 
as  he  spoke  he  held  in  his  hand  a  lovely  bunch  of  rare  ex- 
otics, and  offered  them  to  Charlotte  Howard.  The  girl 
hesitated,  turning  very  pale,  and  with  a  look  of  keen  pain 
flitting  over  his  pale  face  he  said,  "Peace  on  earth,  good 
will  toward  men.'* 

"Yes,  I  will  accept  them,  Mr.  Montaine,''  was  all  she 
made  answer,  taking  them  from  his  hand,  but  refusing  to 
give  him  for  what  he  seemed  to  look,  a  glance  of  her  soft, 
kindly  forgiving  eyes. 

That  morning,  when  alone  in  the  room,  she  tenderly 
arranged  each  bud  and  flower,  and  placing  them  (with  a 
light  in  her  eyes  that  had  not  been  there  for  many  a  long 
day)  in  a  lovely  little  moss  basket,  she  hung  them  above 
her  mantle,  then  opening  a  drawer  she  took  from  it  an 
exquisite  little  piece  of  painting,  representing  the  infant 
Jesus  in  the  manger,  with  the  heavenly  host  of  angels 
singing,  "Peace  on  earth."  How  much  pains  the  girl  had 
taken  in  its  execution,  the  result  plainly  showed,  for  it  was 
a  perfect  gem  of  its  kind.  She  gazed  on  it  now  for  the 
hundredth  time,  perhaps,  a  strange  look  of  irresolution 
depicted  upon  her  expressive  face.  No  one  but  herself 
knew  for  whom  she  had  intended  it,  yet  she  dared  not 
present  it.  "I  am  afraid  to  send  it  to  him,"  she  murmured 
with  a  quiver  of  the  lip  and  humid  light  in  the  soft,  gazing 
eyes,  and  replacing  it  in  the  drawer  she  tnrned  away  with 
a  deep,  sad  sigh  and  lingering  step,  and  the  answering, 
"Peace  on  earth,  good  will  toward  men,"  was  not  sent,  and 
Louis  Montaine,  standing  aside,  saw  others  receive  tokens 
of  remembrance  from  her  that  morning,  and  turning  away 
sighed,  as  he  thought  that  he  was  forgotten  and  the  breach 
was  left  open. 

That  night  Charlotte  Howard  heard,  with  a  pang  of  re- 
gret and  keen  pain,  that  Louis  Montaine  had  gone  off  on  a 
visit  to  his  young  cousins,  and  the  bitter  moan  of  her  heart 
was,  ''And  so  I  will  go  away  this  week  and  not  see  him 
again." 

Madam  's  Boarding  Establishment  for  Young  Ladies 


Maud  and  Sadie  Burgoyne. 


213 


was  almost  deserted.  Perfect  quietness  reigned  supreme  in 
the  noisy  recitation  rooms,  while  the  many  neat  dormitories 
were  tenantless  and  still. 

Madam   .  the  proprietress,  the  French  teacher, 

whose  home  was  in  sunny  France,  and  Maud  and  Sadie 
Burgoyne,  remained  sole  occupants  of  the  busy  establish- 
ment. 

Christmas,  the  day  so  full  of  cheer  and  merriment  to 
earth's  fortunate  ones,  passed  drearily  enough  to  the  exiled 
girls.  No  letter,  present,  or  token  of  remembrance 
coming  from  father,  sister,  cousin,  or  friend.  Going  to 
church  being  enforced,  they  of  necessity  went,  but  derived 
no  happiness  from  the  decorated  temple  of  the  living  God, 
with  its  soul-stirring  service  and  grandly  rendered  music. 
Their  young  hearts  were  too  rebellious,  their  thoughts  too 
full  of  rancor  and  bitterness. 

After  the  rather  meagre  dinner,  partaken  of  alone,  they 
went  up  to  their  room  and  spent  the  afternoon  in  tears, 
vain  regrets,  and  freely  spoken  abuse  of  father  and  sister, 
well  savored  with  unkind  remarks  of  cousin  Louis  and 
"Mamma's  old  friends,"  and  as  nothing  pleasant  was  in 
store  for  the  evening  they  retired  early,  crying  themselves 
to  sleep. 

It  was  late  the  next  morning  when  they  rose,  a  holiday 
privilege  of  which  they  gladly  availed  themselves,  for  the 
bed  was  far  more  comfortable  than  the  cheerless  dormitory 
or  the  heated  parlor,  where  the  duenna  was  domiciled. 

After  breakfast  they  returned  to  their  room.  Sadie, 
wrapping  herself  up  in  a  blanket,  sat  down  to  drown  her 
thoughts  in  the  pages  of  a  novel,  while  Maud  took  her 
stand  at  the  window,  seemingly  endeavoring  to  obtain  some 
amusement  from  the  street.  Neither  of  them  resembled 
Irene,  Maud  being  decidedly  the  counterpart  of  her  plain 
mother,  with  no  pretensions  to  beauty.  Sadie  was  yet  a 
child,  and  gave  the  promise  of  possessing  some  striking 
marks  of  beauty  ;  her  form  was  a  marvel  for  a  girl  of 
twelve — tall,  graceful,  erect,  her  eyes  large,  dark  and  in- 
tensely brilliant,  a  shapely,  queenly  poised  head,  with  a 

14 


214 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


perfect  wreath  of  golden  hair.  Certainly,  with  good  treat- 
ment and  a  happier  atmosphere  surrounding  her,  Sadie 
Burgoyne  would  develop  into  a  strikingly  handsome  and 
dignified  woman.  There  was  that  something  commanding 
and  attractive  about  her,  as  a  child,  that  made  one  instinct- 
ively feel  that  if  educated  aright  she  would  make  a  decided 
mark  in  society. 

"Oh!  Sadie,  you  ought  to  see  how  they  are  carrying 
evergreens  and  artificial  flowers  to  decorate  the  hall,  for 
the  great  dance  and  festival  to-night.  Do,  Sadie,  let  us  try 
and  "fix  up  the  best  we  can  and  go  there  a  little  while.  I 
would  like  so  much  to  help  with  the  dressing." 

"I  would  go  if  I  had  a  new  dress,"  was  the  reply,  her 
eyes  still  resting  on  her  book,  "but  under  no  consideration 
would  I  go  in  that  old  short,  rusty  alpaca ;  I  am  a  perfect 
object  of  poverty  in  it,  and  there  will  be  so  many  young 
gentlemen  and  ladies  there." 

"Pshaw !  it  is  just  too  horrid  to  be  treated  so  mean,  and 
'Bene  has  such  beautiful  silk  dresses,"  and  tears  welled  up 
to  overflowing  in  the  eyes  of  the  despondent  girl,  as  she 
leaned  disconsolately  against  the  window  pane,  her  young 
heart  full  of  bitterness  and  a  pining  loneliness  for  home 
and  f  riend*.  Suddenly  her  eyes  light  with  interest,  and  she 
exclaims,  "Why,  Sadie,  a  carriage  has  stopped  at  the  gate. 
I  wonder  what  girl  has  come  back  so  soon  ;  but  no,  a  young 
man  has  alighted."  How  she  starts,  the  color  rushes  to  her 
face,  and  with  a  wild  scream  of  joy  she  exclaims,  "Sadie, 
Sadie,  it  is  cousin  Louis,  I  do  believe !  yes,  Sadie,  come,  it 
is  Louis,  cousin  Louis,"  and  out  she  rushes,  pell-mell  down 
the  stairs,  and  just  as  Louis  Montaine  is  ushered  into  the 
hall,  she  impetuously  throws  her  arms  about  him,  impul- 
sively hugging  and  kissing  him,  while  she  bursts  into  a 
hysterical  cry  of  sheer  joy. 

"  Whew  !"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  laughing,  but  very 
warmly  returning  her  embraces.  "I  have  never  received 
such  a' hot  welcome  in  my  life;  but  you  must  give  way,  for 
here  comes  Sadie  for  her  share. 

"  Oh !  cousin  Louis,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  once  more," 


Maud  and  Sadie  Burgoyne. 


215 


said  the  latter,  now  coming  up,  her  eyes  tilling  with  tears, 
as  she  throws  her  arms  about  the  young  man,  kissing  him 
again  and  again.  "It  is  so  kind  in  you  to  come,  for  we 
were  nearly  dying  from  loneliness."  "Did  you  get  my  let- 
ter V  asked  Maud,  again  clinging  to  him. 

u  Yes,  I  received  it,  and  have  answered  in  person,  you 
see.  You  did  just  the  right  thing,  in  writing  and  bringing 
me  to  a  sense  of  my  shameful  neglect ;  and  did  the  kindest 
thing  in  showing  me  a  place  where  I  could  run  to ;  for  I 

was  just  wishing,  for  some  excuse  to  leave  S   for  a 

few  days. 

"Come  into  the  parlor,  cousin  Louis,"  said  Sadie,  taking 
his  arm  and  leading  the  way.  "Your  hand  is  as  cold  as  ice 
and  you  look  so  pale."  "Yes,  I  was  just  going  to  say  that 
cousin  Louis  looked  really  sick,  you  are  so  white  and  thin, 
and  have  grown  so  tall.  Oh  !  you  have  changed  wonderful- 
ly. Have  we  altered  much  ?" 

"Yes,  a  little,  but  not  beyond  recognition,"  was  the  smil- 
ing reply  as  they  entered  the  parlor,  and  sitting  down 
wearily  on  the  sofa,  he  drew  an  eager,  happy,  smiling  girl 
on  each  side  of  him.  "Have  you  been  sick,  Louis  ?"  Maud 
inquired.  "You  look  so  differently  from  when  I  saw  you 
last." 

"No,  not  exactly  sick,"  and  an  involuntary  sadness  flitted 
over  his  face,  while  a  sigh  escaped  his  lips.  "I  was  acci- 
dently  shot  a  few  days  ago,  while  out  on  a  hunt,  and  I  pre- 
sume that  I  look  jaded  from  traveling  ;  but  putting  myself 
out  of  the  way,  let  me  inquire  something  about  my  little 
pet.    Do  you  ever  hear  aught  of  Lorenza  ?" 

"  Yery  seldom  ;  once  in  a  while  aunt  Sarah  will  write  a 
few  lines,  saying  that  'Renzie  is  well  and  fat,  but  a  world  of 
trouble,  and  always  complains  against  Irene  for  sending  her 
out  there  to  bother  an  old  soul  like  her.  Oh,  I  do  so  long 
to  see  the  dear  little  creature — poor  mamma,  and  baby  and 
pet,"  and  the  voice  was  choked  with  unshed  tears,  and  Sadie 
coming  to  her  rescue  asked,  "Do  you  know  any  thing  about 
papa  and  'Rene?  for  we  do  not  know  if  they  are  even 
alive." 


2l6 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"Is  it  possible  and  something  very  much  like  a  sneer 
disfigured  the  face  of  the  young  man.  *•  I  am  not  certain 
about  your  fathers  whereabouts ;  and  you  did  not  know 
that  'Rene  had  followed  me  to  S — ,  and  was  jealously  watch- 
ing her  claims  on  me?v 

"  Why,  no,  cousin  Louis,  to  tell  you  the  positive  truth, 
I  cannot  remember  the  last  time  she  has  written  to  us,  it  is 
60  long  ago,7'  and  Sadie  asked.  '*  How  is  it  that  she  let  you 
come  to  see  us — and  why  did  she  not  come  with  yon  ?" 

u  For  a  very  good  reason,7'  laughed  the  young  man.  k,I 
never  told  her  one  word  about  my  coming;  when  she  was  at 
church  yesterday,  I  very  slyly  ran  away  :  I  will  receive  a 
good  scolding  when  I  get  back,  no  doubt :  but  that  is  noth- 
ing to  be  feared,  I  am  used  to  that  now." 

"She  is  not  perfection  now.  eh,  cousin  Louis?"  slyly 
suggested  Sadie,  while  Maud  saucily  rejoined : 

"  Yes,  you  know  Sadie.  I  always  perdieted  that  he  would 
find  out  defect?  some  day.  She  is  not  such  an  angel  now, 
eh.  Mr.  Louis  C 

"  Xo,  not  quite — her  angelical  qualities  have  faded  away 
considerably  of  late.  But  I  perceive  yon  are  too  fond  of 
slandering  your  sister  and  I  will  not  allow  it ;  you  know  the 
command — 'remove  the  beam  from  your  own  eye,  before 
you  try  to  take  the  mote  out  of  your  brother's  eye.' " 

Yes.  it  does  not  say  your  father  and  sister,  though,  but 
I  know  it  means  the  same  thing.  But,  cousin  Louis,  you 
can  not  imagine  how  mean  she  treats  us.  She  dresses  so 
finely,  and  here  we  are  not  actually  decently  appareled, 
any  one  would  think  that  we  were  a  pauper's  daughters  ;  and 
I  just  intend  to  tell  you  the  whole  truth,  we  are  shame- 
fully neglected  and  insulted  at  this  school ;  Sadie  is  never 
allowed  to  go  near  a  piano  and  she  is  so  fond  of  music  and 
can  sing  superbly,  and  I  will  just  tell  you  the  reason  of  it 
— papa  dues  not  pay  regularly  for  our  board  and  tuition,  1 

found  it  out  only  yesterday.    Madam   was  talking  to  a 

lady  visitor,  and  I  heard  her  say  something  against  papa,  and 
she  said  the  only  reason  that  she  admitted  us  into  the  school 
was  on  account  of  our  mother  being  the  sister  of  Mr.  Mon- 


Maud  and  Sadie  Burgoync. 


217 


taine.  Then  she  said  something  about  'Rene  marrying  you, 
and  that  she  would  not  lose  what  is  due  to  her,  for  'Rene 
would  pay  her  with  interest,  after  she  became  your  wife. 
Now,  that  is  just  how  matters  stand,  and  how  can  you  blame 
me  for  slandering  papa  and  Irene  ?"  and  the  girl  looked  a 
defiant  inquiry  into  the  face  of  her  cousin,  who  seemed 
greatly  moved,  while  an  angry  light  gleamed  in  his  deep 
eyes  as  he  said,  his  tone  full  of  pain  and  subdued  excite- 
ment : 

"  This  is  certainly  a  very  bad  state  of  affairs.  And  is 
Irene  aware  of  your  destitute  condition,  and  the  way  that 
your  father  is  treating  you  ?" 

"Certainly  she  is ;  I  have  written  again  and  again,  telling 
her  all,  and  how  Wb  are  being  neglected  and  disgraced. 
She  promised  to  speak  to  papa  and  have  it  remedied,  but 
no  remedy  has  come.  She  sent  us  a  box  of  her  cast-off 
clothing,  and  the  French  teacher  gave  us  five  dollars  for 
them,  which  Sadie  and  I  soon  spent  for  sweetmeats,"  and 
Maud  Burgoyne  finished  with  a  merry  laugh. 

"Do  you  think  that  papa  is  really  so  poor,  Louis?  or 
that  he  does  not  care  for  us?  You  know  'Rene  was  always 
his  favorite." 

"It  is  hard  for  me  to  tell,  Sadie,  what  is  the  meaning  of 
such  conduct.  I  heard  that  your  father  was  bankrupt,  but 
the  style  'Rene  keeps  up  made  me  disbelieve  the  report. 
The  extravagant  way  that  she  trails  her  silks  and  laces 
around  does  not  correspond  with  your  poor  attire  and  slen- 
der purse,  and  it  makes  me  feel  very  badly  to  think  she  is 
so  selfish.  Why  did  you  keep  your  poverty  thus  from  me, 
when  you  know  that  I  could  easily  help  you,  for  aunt  Har- 
rie's  sake,  if  nothing  else." 

"I  was  afraid  to  let  you  know.  'Rene  forbid  us  to  tell 
you,  but  I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and,  Louis,  you  will  not 
tell  Irene?" 

"No,  I  will  not  tell  her,  for  I  doubt  if  she  could  help  you 
any,  but  I  will  write  to  your  father  and  endeavor  to  arouse 
him  to  his  duty  and  parental  obligations.  He  does  not 
treat  'Rene  as  he  should,  leaving  her  alone  without  a  pro- 


2J8 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


tector.  But  come,  do  not  look  so  serious  and  troubled, 
little  cousins,  I  will  come  to  an  understanding  with  Madam 

 ,  so  that  in  the  future  you  will  not  be  neglected  nor 

slighted,  and  after  you  graduate,  if  your  father  fails  to  ful- 
fill his  duty  towards  you,  rest  assured  you  will  ever  have  a 
warm  welcome  at  my  home,  but  you  must  study  hard  and 
try  to  become  educated,  refined  young  ladies." 

"Oh !  Louis,  darling  coz,  you  are  just  delightfully  good, 
and  I  am  just  going  to  study  hard ;  I  want  to  live  with  you 
anyhow,  for  papa  makes  fun  of  me,  and  says  that  I  am 
ugly  as  Satan,''  and  Maud,  in  her  usual  rapturous  manner, 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him  impulsively. 

"And  how  about  you,  Sadie  ?  you  do  not  seem  enthusi- 
astic on  the  subject.  Do  you  not  want  to  find  a  home  with 
'Rene  until  she  entraps  a  rich  husband  for  you  % 

"No,  I  do  not ;  I  would  rather  not  be  dependent  on  you 
for  a  home.  I  do  not  like  'Rene,  and  before  I  live  with  her 
I  will  live  among  strangers,  and  earn  my  living  by  teaching. 
I  shall  never  be  beholden  to  such  a  sister  as  Irene  Bur- 
goyne." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Sadie,"  cried 
Maud,  reproachfully.  "She  is  awfully  proud,  cousin  Louis, 
and  as  independent  as  "Beulah;"  everybody  calls  her  proud, 
and  her  nickname  among  the  girls  is  Miss  Independence." 

"Every  one  has  a  right  to  hold  to  their  opinion,  but  do 
not  be  proud  against  me,  little  cousin,  I  will  be  more  de- 
pendent on  you  perhaps,  than  you  on  me.  Remember,  I 
have  no  mother  or  sister,  and  a  selfish,  fashionable  wife, 
will  not  satisfy  all  my  wants  and  longings ;  and  I  will  have 
to  look  to  you,  my  young  cousin,  to  fill  up  what  she  lacks. 
Suppose  my  father  had  bequeathed  a  part  of  his  wealth  to 
you,  would  you  have  refused  to  take  it  ?  So  now  as  his  son. 
I  will  accomplish  what  he  failed  to  do.  He  died  so  sudden- 
ly, that  he  neglected  much  which  I  know  he  wanted  done. 
I  loved  aunt  Harrie  very  dearly,  and  as  I  have  an  abun- 
dance and  to  spare,  you  think  I  intend  that  my  dear 
little  cousins  shall  want?  Not  so.  You  talk  of  teaching,  why 
what  would  the  world  say  of  me?  call  me  selfish,  close-fist- 


Maud  and  Sadie  Burgoyne. 


219 


ed,  and  utterly  devoid  of  my  father's  open-handed  generos- 
ity. No,  no,  Sadie,  I  will  not  be  frightened  by  your  inde- 
pendence. Study  now,  and  become  an  accomplished  young 
lady,  then  come  home  to  me,  and  I  predict  that  you  will 
not  stay  there  too  long.  Why,  you  will  be  the  belle  of 
Charleston,  and  carry  off  the  best  prize  in  the  matrimonial 
market  !" 

"Cousin  Louis,  you  are  just  making  fun  of  me,  and  Maud 
is  laughing ;  but  you  can  not  alter  my  fixed  determination, 
I  hate  'Rene,  if  it  had  not  been  for  her,  mamma  would  be 
living  now.  I  just  wish  that  she  had  never  come  home, 
but  had  married  one  of  those  gay  Frenchmen,  who,  she  said, 
was  dead  in  love  with  her,  and  then  she  could  have  Lad  a 
house  full  of  poodles.  We  have  seen  nothing  but  trouble 
since  she  came  back." 

Perhaps  Louis  Montaine  wished  the  same  thing  ;  for  a 
clear  ripple  of  his  old  merry  laugh  echoed  through  the 
room,  and  with  a  sympathetic  good  humor  he  put  his  arm 
around  the  pouting  child,  and  said,  trying  to  hide  his  real 
feeling,  in  disapproving  words,  "Oh !  no  Sadie,  this  will 
not  do,  remember  that  lady  is  to  make  me  your  brother,  and 
you  must  not  talk  against  her  thus,  1  cannot  listen  to  it; 
for  the  receiver  is  as  bad  as  the  sender,  your  antipathy  for 
Miss  Lilly  is  as  great  as  ever  I  see,  and  I  wish  the  day  of 
her  death  would  come,  every  time  I  see  'Rene  fondling  it." 

"  I  think  'Rene  had  better  taken  care  of  dear  little  'Renzie 
instead  of  that  nasty  little  snappish  beast,"  observed  Maud, 
dryly,  and  Sadie  took  it  up  with  alacrity,  "  Yes  indeed,  I 
think  she  had,  but" — stopping  her  mouth  with  his  hand 
Louis  Montaine  laughingly  said  :  "  Here  it  begins  again  ; 
but  not  another  word.  1  am  going  to  stay  here  until  to- 
morrow night  and  I  want  you  both  to  forget  all  about 
''Rene  and  her  darling  poodle,'  and  let  us  have  a  real 
pleasant  time  together.  I  am  going  now  to  find  a  place  to 
stop  at  to-night  and  something  to  eat,  for  I  feel  faint,  having 
eaten  nothing  since  yesterday,  and,  after  getting  a  little 
rest,  I  will  come  with  a  carriage  and  take  you  out  to  ride, 
and  let  you  buy  your  Christmas  presents  and  something 


220 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


very  beautiful  for  'Renzie,  so  I  can  express  it  on  to  her  at 

once.    Madame  will  be  home  by  that  time  and  I  will 

arrange  everything  in  order  ;  so  now,  good-bye  for  a  few 
hours." 

The  next  night  Louis  Montaine  left  for  home,  leaving 
behind  him  two  happy,  transformed  girls  loaded  with  hand- 
some presents,  and  money  to  purchase  winter  clothing, 
arrangements  perfected  for  their  future  comfort  and  ad- 
vantages for  the  continuance  of  their  education  ;  leaving 
them  far  richer  and  happier  than  they  ever  imagined  it 
possible  to  realize  in  so  short  a  time,  and  yet  what  a  simple 
act,  what  a  little,  perhaps  no,  self-denial  on  the  part  of  the 
donor  !  Would  that  the  rich  and  favored  of  this  world  would 
ever  act  thus  %  What  an  amount  of  misery,  want,  unpaid 
toil  and  degradation  would  cease  !  What  a  different  world 
the  rich  could  make  of  it!  How  much  happier  they  could 
make  mankind,  and  thus  become  happier  themselves.  How 
much  safer  would  be  their  future  life,  how  much  surer 
their  reward  hereafter!  But,  alas!  they  hug  their  comforts,, 
store  away  their  dollars,  luxuriate  in  ease  and  plenty,  caring 
nothing  for  the  poverty-stricken  brother  in  their  midst. 
Hating  the  poor — Christ's  poor — scorning  the  toil-worn 
laborer,  cheating  them  day  by  day  out  of  their  just  dues  by 
paying  almost  nothing  from  the  wealth  loaned  them  by  the 
great  God  and  owner  of  the  universe  for  the  labor  of  their 
hands,  the  labor  which  the  rich  can  not  do  without.  Ah  ! 
verily  will  the  heartless  cruelty  of  the  rich  meet  its  reward, 
when  the  Lord  of  life  assumes  His  power  and  metes  out 
His  rewards  and  punishments.  Help,  sympathize,  lift  from 
the  mire  of  poverty  Christ's  suffering,  lost,  wandering  sheep, 
and  ye  do  it  unto  Christ ! 

By  his  simple  act  of  kindness,  help,  interest  and  encour- 
agement, Louis  Montaine  had  given  a  life-spring  to  these 
two  hitherto  listless  young  ladies  ;  arresting  the  stagnant 
waters  gurgling  about  their  despairing  young  hearts,  leav- 
ing them  two  different  girls  from  what  he  had  found  them. 
It  takes  very  little  to  convey  happiness  to  others,  especially 
the  young,  but  it  is  withheld,  and  the  world  of  misery  and 
despair  goes  on. 


Maud  and  Sadie  Burgoyne. 


221 


Four  days  after  his  departure  Louis  Montaine  arrived 
back,  looking  better,  feeling  stronger  and  happier,  his 
wounds  completely  healed,  but,  alas  !  not  his  heart's  wound. 
A  blackness  of  darkness  seemed  to  settle  down  over  his  life 
as  he  heard  what  he  expected,  yet  dreaded  to  hear — that 
Charlotte  Howard  had  gone — for  he  then  realized  what  it 
would  be  to  lose  her  from  his  life ! 


COMMENCEMENT. 


gVTc  early  three  years  have  glided  by  into  the  past  with 
uneventful  but  giant  strides.  Three  years  more  ad- 
v~^)  ded  to  time,  making  our  friends  whom  we  left  just 
verging  upon  maturity,  men  and  women,  standing  on  the 
threshold  of  a  new  life  ;  a  life  of  reality  it  is  true,  fraught 
with  new  responsibility,  but  also  new  enjoyments  and 
pleasures.  The  anticipated,  dreamed  of  time,  that  would 
bring  the  shadowy  hopes  and  aspirations  into  a  real,  tangi- 
ble reality.  The  ardently  desired  time  when  discipline  and 
obedience  could  be  thrown  aside,  and  armed  with  the  full 
panoply  of  manhood  they  could  step  forth  and  do  as  they 
liked,  think  as  they  pleased,  form  new  and  dearer  ties,  and 
take  their  stand  among  the  ranks  of  those  whose  years  pro- 
claimed them  men. 

A?  in  years  gone  by,   unquestionably  such  were  the 

thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  graduating  class  from  

College  this  year,  and  of  this  number  are  our  old  friends, 
Arthur  Howard,  Harry  Bentley,  Louis  Montaine,  Walter 
Hayne,  and  some  fifteen  others. 

The  public  exercises  comprising  orations  and  addresses 
by  the  graduating  class ;  the  annual  oration  from  some  dis- 
tinguished character,  and  the  conferring  of  diplomas,  were 
to  begin  at  noon ;  but  long  before  the  sun  was  overhead, 
the  hall  was  crowded  to  excess,  and  by  twelve  all  were  as- 
sembled. As  the  stage  is  filling,  the  band  strikes  up  a  gay 
strain,  which  ceases  as  all  are  seated.  A  slight  pause  fol- 
lows ;  then  Walter  Hayne,  handsome,  pleasant,  self-confi- 
dent, and  stylishly  attired,  arose,  and  coming  forward  with 

a  graceful  bow,  introduced  the  Rev.  Mr.  ,  a  visiting 

minister,  to  read  the  opening  prayer,  after  which  Mr.  Hayne 
again  comes  to  the  front,  and  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice  intro- 
duced Mr.  Howard  to  deliver  the  salutatory  address. 


Commencement.     •  223 

An  acclamation  of  applause  greeted  the  young  graduate, 
as  he  came  forward,  and  as  he  stands  there  we  notice  that 
the  three  years  have  wrought  a  change  in  him.  He  is 
twenty-two,  and  Irs  form  and  general  appearance  speak 
well  for  his  years.  Tall  and  broad-chested,  with  a  firmly 
poised  head,  well  cut  features,  and  dark  brown  mustache 
and  side  locks,  style  him  a  handsome  man.  Much  of  his 
boyish  spirits  and  mischief  have  subsided  into  manhood's 
matured  and  more  serious  cast ;  still  it  is  not  extinct,  for, 
as  his  clear,  unabashed  blue  eyes  rove  over  the  vast  assem- 
bly and  fall  on  a  familiar  or  loved  object,  the  old  mischiev- 
ous smile  curves  the  lip  and  lights  the  face,  and  we  recog- 
nize the  Arthur  of  old.  The  voice,  not  very  loud,  but  dis- 
tinct, firm  and  perfectly  audible,  broke  pleasantly  upon  the 
expectant  ear ;  after  the  usual  manner  of  a  salutatory  ad- 
dress he,  in  pleasant,  concise  and  amusing  style  welcomed, 
in  the  name  of  his  fellow  students,  the  friends  and  visitors 
to  this  their  annual  Commencement. 

One  after  another,  in  rapid  succession,  the  young  gentle- 
men were  introduced,  and  delivered  their  graduating  ora- 
tions, receiving  their  separate  plaudits  and  floral  showers, 
but  as  they  are  strangers  to  the  reader,  we  will  pass  them 
over  and  briefly  touch  on  two  others  who  are  not,  Harry 
Bentley,  and  the  first  honor  man,  Louis  Montaine, 

The  former,  a  young  man  of  twenty-one,  is  tall  but 
slightly  built,  with  pale  complexion  and  delicate  cast  of 
features,  dark,  curling  hair,  and  a  slight  line  of  a  dark  mus- 
tache just  shadowing  the  upper  lip  of  a  sad,  compressed 
mouth,  which  made  you  feel  instinctively  that  some  blight 
rested  upon  his  life,  marring  its  youth,  and  sapping  the 
buoyancy  of  spirits  generally  found  in  one  of  his  few 
years. 

An  intense  interest  seemed  to  pervade  the  large  assem- 
blage, as  he  came  forward  at  the  announcement  of  his 
name,  and  as  his  large,  sad  eyes  glanced  quietly  over  the 
vast  crowd  before  him,  a  slight  flush  came  to  his  cheek,  and 
an  uneasy  fear  seemed  to  come  to  the  common  mind  that  he 
would  fail,  but  they  were  soon  reassured  as  his  clear,  gen- 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


tie,  pathetic  tones  and  words  fell  upon  the  listening  air. 
His  subject  was  "Christianity  and  Infidelity,"  and  the  manner 
in  which  he  handled  it  gave  you  to  understand  that  there 
was  a  depth  of  thought,  acute  penetration,  sound  judgment 
and  broad  intellect  underlying  the  rather  effeminate  ap- 
pearance of  the  youthful  orator.  Hard  study,  incessant 
application,  undivided  attention,  and  a  firm  resolve  to  excel 
(though  never  counted  very  brilliant)  had  made  him  a  ripe 
scholar  at  the  first  dawn  of  manhood,  and  he  graduates  with 
the  third  honor  from  a  brilliant  class  cf  twenty-three. 

His  ever  quiet  manner  and  delicate  appearance  made  an 
observer  pronounce  him  passive  and  only  ordinary,  but  as 
he  warms  now,  with  his  interesting  and  deeply  felt  subject, 
his  face  lighted,  his  eye  unabashed,  his  gestures  graceful 
and  spirited,  and  his  voice  low  but  distinct  and  sweetly  per- 
suasive, that  uttered  in  elegant  language  a  well  selected, 
maintained  and  beautiful  composition,  undeceived  many, 
and  hundreds  with  one  accord  pronounce  him  "just 
splendid,"  a  good  scholar,  sound  philosopher,  and  predicted 
he  would  become  a  brilliant  theologian. 

"We  will  soon  see  Hal  in  surplice  and  stole,"  was  an  oft- 
repeated  prophecy  at  College,  and  on  this  occasion  his  first 
speech  in  public  was  more  fitted  for  the  pulpit  than  the 
rostrum. 

Grateful  tears  of  joy  and  pride  came  to  the  eyes  of  the 
fond  parents  as  they  listened,  while  the  fond  sisters'  hearts 
throbbed  with  tender,  loving  emotions  as  the  homage  of 
the  admiring  crowd  was  bestowed  upon  this  darling,  loved 
brother. 

"  Does  he  not  speak  beautifully  V  whispered  Masie  Wal- 
ters to  her  sister  Florence,  and  Charlotte  Howard,  who  sat 
on  either  side  of  her,  while  tears  of  joy  and  love  filled  her 
eyes.  Florence,  a  sweet,  lovely  young  lady,  pressed  her 
sister's  hand  in  sympathetic  style,  saying,  in  a  low  tone, 
"  Dear,  dear  Harry,  how  I  wish  he  was  happy  !"  glancing 
significantly  towards  Charlotte  Howard. 

A  slight  tinge  came  to  that  young  lady's  soft  cheek,  but 
she  made  no  reply,  and  the  sisters'  eyes,  ears  and  hearts  were 


Commencement. 


225 


given  to  the  brother  again,  who  was  just  then  the  centre  of 
attraction.  But,  ah  !  I  am  afraid  not  to  all,  for  very  often 
two  dark  brown  orbs  would  frequently  turn  from  him  and 
shyly  glance  toward  another  face  and  form,  sitting  in  a  re- 
cessed position  on  the  stage.  Charlotte  Howard  had  just 
returned  home  the  day  before,  after  an  uninterrupted  ab- 
sence of  three  years.  And  now,  as  she  sits  there  attired  in 
plain,  fleecy  robes,  her  once  sunny  hair,  straying  at  will, 
brushed  back  from  the  round,  white  forehead  and  coiled  in 
rich,  dark  braids,  forming  a  very  coronet  upon  the  small, 
shapely  head,  we  can  scarcely  recall  the  Charlotte  of  former 
days.  The  once  childish  face  has  matured  into  the  calm, 
thoughtful  visage  of  a  woman  ;  and  who  could  behold  that 
face  without  acknowledging  at  once  that  she  was  beautiful. 
Charlotte  Howard  had  indeed  developed  into  a  beautiful, 
refined,  and  accomplished  woman.  Ever  small,  she  was  still 
so,  yet  perfectly  and  gracefully  proportioned.  The  com- 
plexion clear  and  soft,  with  the  faintest  peach- bloom  upon 
the  velvety  cheek,  verging  to  a  deep  carnation  on  the  small 
and  exquisitely  chiseled  mouth.  The  hair,  in  girlish  days 
verging  on  to  red,  had  shaded  each  year,  and  was  now  a  dark 
auburn,  and  a  wealth  of  soft,  dark  bancs  took  the  place  of 
the  free,  troublesome  curls  which  had  ever  clustered  about 
her  face  in  child-like  style;  the  eye-brows  dark  and  arched, 
the  lids  darker  still  and  slightly  curled  at  the  ends,  rested 
bewitchingly  on  the  peachy  cheek  when  looking  down,  but 
.  when  raised,  disclosed  a  pair  of  soft,  dark  hazel  eyes,  full  of 
varying  expression  and  beauty,  the  windows  of  a  soul  re- 
fined, gentle,  strong  and  loving,  adding  a  glory  and  a  light 
to  all,  and  making  one  feel  instinctively  when  receiving  a 
glance,  that  the  girl  was  rare,  beautiful,  pure  and  good — 
and  which  she  was ;  for,  though  so  outwardly  changed, 
Charlotte  was  the  same  strong,  sweet  nature  as  of  old.  She 
was  one  of  those  rare  creatures  who  seem  to  inspire  all  with 
love  and  friendship,  and  more  than  one  masculine  heart 
throbbed  with  an  undying  love  for  this  lovable  girl,  and  one 
among  them  was  Harry  Bentley,  who  loved  with  a  strong,  ab- 
sorbing and  adoring  passion,  but  hopelessly.    The  life-spring 


226 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


of  his  present  achievements  and  hard  fought  for  honor,  was 
to  gain  her  notice,  and  to  show  her  he  was  no  dolt.  She  was 
the  incentive  that  had  urged  him  on  through  weariness  and 
pain,  discouragement  and  fear.  It  was  this  absorbing  love, 
this  latent  fire  smouldering  low,  at  times  fanned  into  a  flame, 
bnt  almost  instantly  smothered  until  nearly  extinguished, 
that  made  him  the  saddened,  blighted  life  we  find  him.  And 
now,  what  has  he  gained  ?  Charlotte  certainly  felt  and  ac- 
knowledged he  spoke  wel],  listened  attentively,  and  appre- 
ciated his  succes3  for  his  relatives'  sake — nothing  more ; 
she  had  no  deeper  interest  in  him  than  that  he  was  the  brother 
of  her  dearest  friends.  She  had  almost  forgotten  Harry  as 
a  lover,  until  now  reminded  of  it  by  those  few  words  and 
significant  glance.  A  saddened  expression  had  superseded 
the  conscious  blush,  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  she  regard- 
ed the  concluding  young  orator  with  something  like  interest, 
and  as  he  concludes  and  bows  to  the  applauding  audience, 
his  eyes  sought  her  out.  She  smiled  brightly  and  sweetly, 
as  with  dexterous  ease  she  threw  a  floral  offering  amidst  the 
shower  that  fell  around  him.  He  saw  it,  and  with  a  heaven 
at  his  heart  illuminating  his  now  flushed  face,  he  picks  it  up 
and  thrust  it  into  his  breast,  returning  to  his  seat  radiantly 
happy. 

And  what  had  prompted  this  source  of  his  present  joy  ? 
"  Dear,  dear  Harry,  how  I  wish  he  was  happy!"  had  touched 
a  vibrating  chord  in  the  girl's  heart,  upon  whose  altar  an 
absorbing,  undying,  yet  hopless  love  lay.  The  knowledge 
that  he  was  experiencing  her  heart-ache,  had  caused  a  sigh 
to  heave  her  gentle  breast  and  flutter  from  her  lips.  She 
felt  for  his  pain,  and  the  thought  h«.d  come,  "I  can  make 
him  happy.  If  my  life  is  to  be  a  sacrifice  for  others,  why 
not  become  his  wife,  and  among  his  flock  I  may  gain,  if  not 
happiness,  at  least  content?''  With  these  thoughts  in  her 
mind  she  had  met  his  glance.  Her  loving,  sympathetic 
heart  went  out  in  sympathy  for  him,  and  brought  the  smile, 
sweet,  tender  and  encouraging,  to  her  face.  But,  ala* !  how 
soon  were  her  feelings  changed.  Amid  the  almost  deafen- 
ing cheering  which  had  followed  Harry's  speech,  the  band 


Co  m  m  encein  ent. 


227 


struck  up  a  gay,  triumphal  tune,  and  as  both  died  away  Mr. 
Hayne  introduced  for  the  first  time,  Mr.  Montaine,  whose 
subject  on  the  programme  was  "  Happiness."  Many  heads 
bend  forward  now  ;  eager,  deep  interest,  visible  on  as  many 
faces.  Knowing  shakes  of  the  head  and  glances  were  exchang- 
ed, for  unlike  Harry,  Louis  Montaine  was  known  and  already 
famed  for  his  brilliant  mind  and  high  oratorical  capacity — 
increasing  the  interest  as  he  was  the  first  honor  man.  And 
as  he  stands  there  in  full  view  we  will  take  a  glance  at  him, 
and  in  doing  so  will  say,  that  the  three  years  have  also 
wrought  a  change  in  him,  adding  to  his  height,  and  casting 
around  him  the  halo  of  manhood  in  its  broadest  sense,  for 
he  stands  there  before  you,  a  firm,  strong,  reliant  and  hand- 
some man.  Handsome  now  indeed,  the  objectionable  fea- 
ture to  an  otherwise  faultless  face  being  shadowed  entirely 
by  a  thick,  dark  mustache. 

Not  until  perfect  quietness  was  restored  did  he  open  his 
subject,  and  the  deep,  thrilling,  yet  musical  voice,  the  flash- 
ing, restless,  intense  eyes,  and  elegant  gestures,  soon  gained 
for  him  the  interest  and  undivided  attention  of  those 
present.  Every  eye  was  riveted  upon  him,  profound  at- 
tention waited  on  every  word  he  uttered,  and  when  he  fin- 
ished, with  a  thrilling  force  that  seemed  to  carry  conviction 
to  every  heart,  all  had  a  clear  idea  that  happiness  was  not  a 
terrestrial  boon,  but  rather  a  celestial  experience. 

Charlotte  Howard  sat  shrinking  back,  and  gazed  like  a 
guilty  creature  on  this  object  of  her  young  heart's  love  and 
9  adoration.  With  a  heart-fainting  sensation  she  knew  that 
the  old  love,  which  she  had  been  battling  against,  and  which 
she  had  thought  conquered,  had  only  been  dormant,  and 
now  at  sight  and  in  sound  of  the  old,  sweet,  familiar  voice, 
had  come  rushing  back  in  a  torrent  of  thrilling,  poignant 
love,  came  back  now  with  redoubled  intensity,  painfully 
bitter  as  she  felt  her  failure,  and  knew  this  love  was  an  un- 
dying attachment,  utterly  hopeless  as  it  was. 

As  one  in  some  painful  trance,  she  sits  there  and  listens 
in  a  charmed  fascination,  which  is  only  dispelled  as  his 
^oice  dies  away  and  she  sees  his  full,  smiling  glance  rest 


228 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


upon  Miss  Burgoyne,  who  had  thrown  a  laurel  wreath 
with  such  dexterity  that  it  lodged  upon  his  head. 

Charlotte  Howard  sank  back  pale  and  wretched,  a  sharp, 
terrible  pain  seeming  to  rend  her  heart  in  twain.  To  a 
careless  eye  perchance  she  seemed  the  same,  but  ah,  how 
altered  to  herself  !  Hope  now  lay  mute  at  her  heart,  and 
in  its  stead  despair  coiled  serpent-like  about  her  being, 
stinging  in  its  cruel  venom,  and  the  heart,  burnt,  crushed, 
withered  up,  lay  in  miserable  desolation — stagnant,  almost 
pulseless.  That  weariness  which  hath  no  outward  part, 
but  which  makes  life  taste  the  bitterness  of  death,  stole 
over  her,  and  she  sat  there  the  remainder  of  the  time 
like  one  absent  to  all  around,  the  whole  strength  of  her 
body  and  soul  being  centered  in  one  mighty  effort  to 
crush  down  the  revived  love,  and  quell  the  bitter  jealousy 
rankling  in  her  heart.  It  had  been  one  of  her  studies  to 
hide  this  secret,  consuming  love,  and  though  for  a  while* 
under  the  severe  test  it  had  given  away,  she  drove  it  back 
again,  crushing  it  with  her  iron  will  from  mortal  vision  ; 
but,  alas !  to  herself  there  was  no  opiate  to  lull  the  deep,  bitter 
pain  to  rest,  for  passionate  love  will  ever  plead  for  utter- 
ance. The  water  rippled  smoothly  enough  on  the  surface, 
but  the  violent  turbulence  beneath  was  beyond  quieting. 

In  the  general  confusion  of  breaking  up,  she  did  not 
see  him,  and  it  was  not  until  seated  in  her  carriage,  waiting 
for  her  brother,  that  he  ran  up  hastily,  and  springing  lightly 
upon  the  step  he  held  out  his  hand,  saying  in  an  eager  man- 
ner. "Howdy,  Miss  Charlotte,  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you 
again.  Your  absence  has  been  so  protracted,  that  it  is  very 
pleasant  to  see  you  among  the  old  familiar  uices  once 
more."  Could  there  have  been  a  more  trying  ime  for  the 
poor  girl,  her  heart  full  of  passionate  tenderness  for  this 
object,  yet  compelled  to  hide  it  from  him  ?  His  eyes,  bent 
on  her,  were  full  of  searching  inquiry,  his  face  flushed  and 
eager,  making  him  so  handsome ;  but  with  a  calm  smile  and 
unflinching  eye,  she  extended  her  hand  and  replied  pleas- 
antly, a  tinge  of  restraint  and  feigned  indifference  in  her 
tone  and  manner : 


Commencement. 


229 


"  Yes,  it  is  very  pleasant  for  me  to  be  home  again,  and  I 
am  very  glad  to  meet,  and  see  you  looking  so  well,  Mr. 
Montaine.  "Will  you  allow  me  to  offer  my  sincere  congrat- 
lations  for  your  brilliant  success  on  this  very  interesting  oc- 
casion." 

"Certainly,  and  I  thank  you  kindly  for  them,"  was  his  re- 
ply ;  but  chilled  by  her  rather  cool  manner,  he  bowed  a 
hasty  retreat. 

That  evening  a  gay,  merry  scene  was  presented  in  the 
town-hall;  where  the  relieved  young  graduates  and  their 
lady  friends,  gathered  to  participate  in  the  Commencement 
ball,  and  although  the  night  was  warm,  at  the  first  sound  of 
the  music,  the  floor  was  full  of  tripping  feet  in  the  mazes  of 
the  dance. 

While  the  third  lancers  were  being  filled,  Louis 
Montaine  approached  Charlotte,  for  the  first  time  that 
evening.  She  looked  very  fair,  as  she  sat  by  an  open  win- 
dow, chatting  gaily  with  Walter  Hayne  and  Florence  Bent- 
ley.  She  was  very  sore  at  heart,  for  thrice  had  Louis  Mon- 
taine and  his  beautiful  affianced,  superb  in  glistening  silk, 
rich  jewels  and  laces,  swept  by  her  in  the  dance,  and  as  he 
now  bowed,  and  stood  before  her,  she  looked  coolly  askance, 
a  slight  curl  of  scorn  wTfeathing  her  lip. 

"Can  I  have  the  pleasure  of  your  hand  for  the  lancers  Miss 
Howard  ?"  he  enquired,  and  her  prompt  reply  came  with 
cool  hauteur,  "Please  excuse  me,  Mr.  Montaine,  my  card  is 
filled  for  every  set  I  care  to  dance  the  remainder  of  the 
evening." 

A  flush  came  to  his  brow,  he  bit  his  lip,  and  bowing  again 
retired. 

A  short  while  afterwards,  Charlotte  saw  him  waltzing 
gaily  with  his  cousin,  but  he  did  not  come  near  her  again. 

It  was  the  "wee  sma"  hours  of  the  next  morning  before 
the  tired  revellers  dispersed.  Charlotte  Howard  found  Wal- 
ter Hayne  was  ready  to  escort  her  home,  and  with  perfect 
satisfaction  that  young  gentlemen  offered  his  arm,  and  with 
tender  gallantry  conducted  her  to  a  buggy.  By  it  was  an 
open  carriage,  and  as  Charlotte  took  her  seat,  she  noticed 

15 


230 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


that  a  lady  sat  within  it,  and  by  the  starlight  she  easily  re- 
cognized her  to  be  Irene  Burgoyne,  and  with  a  sudden  heart 
throb  she  next  saw  Lonis  Montaine  standing  apparently 
just  about  ready  to  spring  in. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joyce,  Hayne  ?"  she  heard 
him  ask  in  a  disturbed  tone,  and  was  answered  indifferently 
by  Mr.  Hayne,  as  he  sprang  in  and  complacently  took  his 
seat  by  her  side.  As  he  gathered  the  reins  preparatory  to 
starting,  Charlotte  glanced  back,  intending  to  *  bestow  a 
parting  bow,  but  with  an  involuntary  shudder  and  strange, 
bewildering  sensation,  she  drew  back  quickly. 

In  that  glance  she  had  seen  Louis  Montaine  perfectly 
transfigured.  His  tall  form  crouching,  his  ever  pale  face 
livid,  dark,  purple  veins  standing  out  like  cords  on  his  white 
forehead.  His  eyes  gleamed  like  two  coals  of  fire,  his 
mouth  sternly  compressed,  while  a  white,  clenched  hand 
was  raised  towards  them. 

A  few  minutes  later  Charlotte  sat  in  her  room,  her  hands 
clasped  tightly,  her  face  pale,  weary  and  anxious,  her  young 
brow  drawn  with  mental  inquiry,  her  heart  wrapped  up  in 
its  burden  of  anguish  and  deep  perplexity.  The  proud, 
stern  face  and  elegant  form  of  her  young  heart's  secret 
idolatry  stood  before  her  in  imagination.  She  seemed  still 
to  feel  the  wild  heart-throb  as  he  stood  before  her  that 
night  and  asked  her  to  dance.  There  was  that  subtle  some- 
thing about  him  that  had  made  her  whole  being  vibrate 
with  painful,  yet  exquisite  emotions,  and  with  a  moaning 
shudder  she  thought  of  how  hard  yet  obligatory  it  was  for 
her  to  draw  a  shield  over  her  glowing,  passionate  heart  and 
appear  indifferent  and  formal. 

Again  the  mental  scene  shifted.  She  recollected  with  a 
shiver  his  changed  appearance  and  clenched  hand  that  night. 
What  did  it  mean  ?  What  inward  emotion  had  wrought 
that  mighty  change?  Had  that  threatening  gesture  been 
directed  toward  Walter  Hayne  ?  and  if  so,  why  ?  And  in 
trying  to  define  it  a  wild  thought  of  sudden  joy  flooded 
her  soul — did  Louis  Montaine  love  her  ?  For  several  min- 
utes the  girl  gave  herself  up  to  this  delicious  reverie,  al- 


Commencement. 


231 


most  feeling  the  sweet,  transient  illusion  was  reality ;  but 
soon  it  was  wafted  away  as  other  realizations  came.  How 
could  this  be  when  his  actions  showed  he  loved  his  cousin, 
and  whom  he  was  to  marry  very  shortly  ?  With  a  shudder- 
ing sob,  and  full  sweeping  tide  of  all  the  old  anguish  rush- 
ing back  on  her  soul,  she  threw  herself  on  her  couch. 

Only  a  little  space  away,  when  all  nature  was  quiet  and 
at  rest,  another  suffering,  intensely  disturbed  heart  throbbed 
— another  battle  was  fought  but  not  won.  Louis  Montaine, 
in  the  quiet  of  his  chamber,  walked  to  and  fro,  his  brow 
wrought  with  an  energy  of  thought,  while  his  hands  were 
clasped  firmly  across  his  back.  Slowly,  with  his  full  pow- 
ers of  mind  and  body  concentrated  upon  the  broad,  open 
facts  of  his  position,  he  treaded  the  room.  And  what  is 
the  matter  ?  Why  does  he  look  like  a  caged  animal  ready 
to  burst  his  prison  bars  and  be  free  ?  Louis  Montaine  had 
been  looked  upon  that  night  as  the  most  blest  and  happi- 
est of  mortals  ;  the  deepest  throes  of  envy  had  been  felt ; 
jealousy  had  burned  brightly  on  many  a  heart's  sacred  altar, 
hatred's  malignant  waters  had  been  stirred,  as  he  moved 
quietly,  and  as  they  felt,  haughtily  about,  in  and  out  among 
them.  Better  it  would  be,  I  think,  if  the  inner  life  were 
known  If  each  of  us  knew  of  the  secret  burdens,  heart- 
aches and  misery  of  others,  there  would  be  no  enmity  on 
earth.  Sympathy  would  make  us  all  fellow-bondsmen  of 
the  earth.  Ah,  envy  not  the  brilliant  outer  life  of  those 
around  us  until  understanding  what  is  hid  from  mortal 
vision ! 

The  outer  life  of  Louis  Montaine  was  all  bright,  glitter- 
ing and  enviable  ;  the  inner  a  conflicting,  lonely,  dissatisfied, 
craving  heart.  The  ceaseless  longings  for  a  mother's  and 
sister's  love  and  care;  a  strong,  undying,  passionate,  but 
hopeless  love  for  one,  and  the  sense  of  a  repugnant  obliga- 
tion to  another,  ever  at  war  battling  but  neither  van- 
quished. 


CHARLOTTE'S  SACRIFICE. 


week  later,  Charlotte  Howard  again  sits  in  her  cham- 
ber alone  and  in  anguish.  A  brilliant  diamond  glitter- 
ed upon  her  tightly  clasped  hands,  and  the  pale,  still 
agonized  face  told,  ah,  too  plainly  it  proclaimed,  a  betroth- 
al repugnant  to  every  fibre  of  her  nature. 

She  sits  there,  the  betrothed  wife  of  Walter  Hayne,  while 
all  her  heart's  love  is  for  another.  To  save  her  sick  mother, 
unselfish  aunt,  and  proud,  handsome  brother  from  disgrace 
and  ruin,  she  had  sold  herself  for  gold,  and  now  sits  brood- 
ing over  her  misery,  her  degradation. 

"My  God  forgive  me,"  is  the  earnest,  pleading  prayer  of 
her  heart.  "If  I  have  done  wrong,  Thou  knowest  that  it  is 
done  for  the  sake  of  others,f or  those  Hove.  I  feel  it  my  duty 
to  save  them  from  the  certain  ruin  and  penury  before  them. 
I  sacrifice  all,  my  dearest  rights  for  my  darling  ones,  and  if 
I  am  wrong  oh,  God  forgive  me  !  I  do  not  love  this  man  ; 
but  I  will  do  my  duty  toward  him  as  his  wife,  and  will  try 
to  make  him  happy ;  but  I  can  never  love  him,  for  in  driving 
out  the  old,  wild,  passionate  idolatry,  the  deep-seated,  endur- 
ing love  there  now,  the  heart  will  be  dead  to  another  love; 
but  if  I  cannot  love  him,  I  will  be  a  loyal  wife  to  Walter 
Hayne.  And  oh !  dear  Savior,  give  me  this  strength.  I  can- 
not let  poverty,  disgrace,  and  disappointment,  come  upon 
poor  mamma  and  dear  Arthur.  They  must  be  saved,  no 
matter  what  I  suffer." 

With  couiageous  determination  not  to  be  crushed  by  this 
heavy  but  as  she  felt  unalterable  burden,  the  suffering  girl 
rose,  and  with  white  lips,  but  a  firm  step  and  steadfast 
light  in  her  eyes,  she  approached  the  desk  and,  unlocking  a 
secret  drawer  took  therefrom  a  small  package,  and  untying 
it  gazed  with  a  look  of  concentrated  pain  at  its  contents. 


Charlotte  s  Sacrifice. 


233 


Several  notes,  a  lot  of  dried  flowers,  several  sheets  of  copied 
music  and  a  picture  ;  all  souvenirs  of  that  fatal  association 
out  in  Virginia  three  years  before.  She  took  the  latter  up, 
the  hand  shaking  violently  that  held  it  before  her  gaze. 
Long  and  earnestly  her  burning  eyes  rested  upon  the  calm, 
proud,  handsome  face  of  Louis  Montaine,  then  raising  it  to 
her  dry,  white  lips,  she  kissed  the  inanimate  likeness  of  the 
man  she  so  madly  loved,  and  then  with  a  dry,  gasping  cry 
she  tore  it  into  bits,  and  with  the  other  worthless  but  cher- 
ished articles,  made  valuable  to  her  heart  as  coming  from 
hands  alas  too  dear  to  her,  she  placed  them  on  the  hearth 
and  igniting  them  with  a  match,  she  stood  watching  them 
with  dilating  eyes,  from  the  terrible  wrench  and  tear  that 
her  heart  experienced  as  they  curled  and  crisped  until  they 
became  a  blackened  mass.  She  stood  there  in  her  agonized 
watch  until  they  were  a  charred  funeral  pile  of  all  her 
hopes,  her  youthful  bliss  and  fondly  cherished  but  soon 
vanished  dreams.  Then  clasping  her  hands  across  her  heart, 
she  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  wailing  forth  in  her  wild 
gony: 

"Oh,  God,  and  must  I  give  him  up?  Oh,  Louis,  Louis,  my 
heart  will  break  from  this  terrible  pain,  this  terrific  forcing 
away  from  its  cherished  shrine  of  thy  worshipped  image!" 

The  shudder  and  pain  of  death  seemed  to  sweep  over  her 
being,  as  she  knelt  there,  her  dry  eyes  raised  imploringly 
while  her  lips  seemed  to  move  in  silent,  fervent  prayer. 

Gradually  she  grew  calmer,  her  face  becoming  more  com- 
posed and  her  eyes  humid.  The  worst  agony  was  over,  and 
the  brave,  self-sacrificing  girl  was  prepared  to  go  forth  and 
engage  in  the  new,  fierce  warfare  before  her. 


THE  REVELATION. 


harlotte  Howard  stands  at  the  death-bed  of  her  old 
protege,  Mrs.  Hayes,  her  face  is  full  of  pity  and  con- 
cern, and  in  a  voice  tender  and  low  she  speaks  to  the 
sick  woman : 

"  Why  did  you  not  send  for  me  before,  grandma  ;  you 
seem  very  ill,  what  can  I  do  for  you  V- 

u  Some  water,  child,  I  am  faint  and  dry,  but  there  is  none 
in  the  house  and  you  can  not  get  it  from  the  well." 

"  O  yes,  I  can ;  I  know  where  the  well  is  down  by  the 
old  fence.    You  see  how  quick  I  will  be  back  with  it." 

With  alacrity  she  took  up  an  old  pitcher,  and  throwing 
back  a  window  ran  from  out  the  door,  drawing  a  long 
breath  of  relief  as  she  emerged  out  into  the  open  air. 
Speeding  down  the  overgrown  pathway  she  soon  found  the 
well,  and  throwing  down  the  old,  rusty  pail,  soon  drew  from 
the  depths  below  cool,  sparkling  spring  water.  Washing  the 
pitcher  thoroughly,  she  filled  it  hastily  and  returned  to  the 
house. 

As  she  entered  the  door  she  started  involuntarily — Louis 
Montaine  stood  at  the  bedside,  a  look  of  undisguised  pity 
and  disgust  on  his  pale,  handsome  face. 

"  You  sent  for  me  this  morning,  Mrs.  Hayes,  but  I  could 
not  come  until  now,  and  hope  it  will  do  just  as  well,"  Char- 
lotte heard  him  say,  and  the  next  instant  his  eyes  fell  upon 
her.  He  started  and  colored,  and  for  an  instant  the  two  re- 
garded each  other  as  if  mutually  palsied,  but  with  a  smile 
he  recovered  himself,  and  coming  forward  said,  as  he  took 
the  pitcher  from  her  hand  : 

"  It  is  rather  a  surprise  to  us  both  to  meet  here.  Mrs. 
Hayes  sent  for  me  this  morning,  and  I  have  just  found 
time  to  answer  her  summons." 


The  Revelation. 


235 


A  gasp  in  the  bed  interrupted  further  talk,  and  hastily 
approching  the  sick  woman,  Charlotte  said,  "  Please,  Mr. 
Montaine,  bring  me  some  of  that  water,  I  believe  the  old 
lady  has  fainted.'' 

Quickly  she  was  obeyed,  and  holding  the  basin  for  her, 
the  young  man  stood  by  and  watched  with  a  sort  of  fasci- 
nation the  small  white  hand  as  it  tenderly  and  dexterously 
bathed  the  clammy,  begrimed  face  of  the  sick  woman. 

"  Had  I  not  better  go  for  a  physician,  Miss  Howard  ?"  he 
inquired,  but  opening  her  eyes,  the  woman  jumped  up,  and 
shaking  her  fist,  said  : 

uNo,  he  shall  not  enter  these  doors,  I  am  better  now,  the 
faintness  has  gone  ;  give  me  the  water,  child.'' 

The  young  man  sprang  forward  to  hand  the  desired  water, 
he  looked  about  for  some  vessel,  and  with  a  grimace  held 
forth  a  greasy  old  cup  inquiringly  toward  Charlotte,  With 
a  smile  she  nodded  assent,  and  rinsing  it  out,  he  filled  and 
brought  it  forward.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  receive  it, 
and  as  it  came  in  contact  with  the  cup,  the  declining  rays 
of  the  setting  sun  glancing  in  the  open  door,  caught  the 
fire  of  the  diamond  upon  her  finger. 

A  sudden  spasm  seemed  to  distort  his  features,  and  draw- 
ing back  chilled  to  the  heart,  he  remembered  his  momen- 
tary folly.  Had  he  forgotten  in  that  brief  time  the  gulf 
between  them? 

64  Please  take  this  basin,  Mr.  Montaine,"  she  asked  sweet- 
ly. "  And  now,  Mrs.  Hayes,  as  you  seem  better,  please 
attend  to  the  business  you  have  with  Mr.  Montaine.  I  will 
go  into  the  next  room  and  come  when  you  call  me." 

"No,  my  child,"  called  the  old  woman,  roused  from  her 
temporary  lethargy,  "  what  I  have  to  tell  him  concerns 
you,  and  as  I  can  not  tell  it  twice,  just  stay  and  hear  it 
now,  and  as  I  might  go  off  any  moment  I  will  begin  at 
once,  and  though  I  do  not  like  to  reveal  this  trust,  I  can  not 
die  in  peace.  I  know  if  I  do  not  confess  my  sins  and  make 
reparation  as  far  as  it  lies  in  my  power,  I  could  not  be  ab- 
solved. I  have  wronged  you,  child ;  I  have  been  a  thief,  a 
perjurer,  just  for  the  sake  of  gold,  which  has  done  no  good, 


236 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


but  instead  brought  only  misery,  fear  and  remorse.  Satan 
tempted,  and  like  Eve  of  old  1  fell.  But  let  me  come  to 
the  point,  and  while  I  have  strength  recall  this  secret  and 
ease  my  mind.  You  do  not  know  me,  Louis  Montaine ; 
but,  ah  !  how  well  do  I  know  you  !  "  and  she  fixed  her  eyes 
upon  the  proud,  rather  indifferent  face  of  the  young  man 
who  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  "  Have  you  never  heard 
of  Mary  Hayes  ?  Did  your  father,  or  Mrs.  Renolds  ever 
speak  to  you  about  me  ?  I  expect  to  see  you  shake  your 
head.  They  had  their  reasons  to  let  my  name  sink  into  ob- 
livion. I  do  not  like  now  to  reveal  their  secret,  to  expose  the 
trust  laid  upon  me,  but  I  dare  not  die  and  let  this  matter 
rest.  I  knew  your  mother  well,  young  man,  and  as  1  look 
upon  you  now,  I  think  I  can  see  her  before  me.  Your 
mother  was  very  young  when  you  were  born,  a  frail  child, 
you  may  say,  and  I  was  your  foster-mother.  But,  oh  ! — 
Holy  Jesus  ! — this  spasm  again  !  Let  me  tell  you  quick, 
for  I  am  going,  Louis  Montaine ;  the  girl  raised  by  Mrs. 
Howard,  the  girl  that  is  an  exile  now,  wanting  and  lonely 
in  a  land  of  strangers,  is  your  sister.  Yes,  I  swear  it  on 
my  dying-bed,  the  girl  known  as  Lila  Howard  is  the 
daughter  of  your  mother — your  sister.  Charlotte,  my 
child,  Lila  is  his  sister,  not  yours.  Mr.  Montaine  gave  me 
money  to  take  it  away,  and  instead  of  raising  it  myself,  I 

stole  the  money  and  put  it  off  on  your  father.    My  soul 

is  stained  with  falsehood  and  theft.  But 

 may  God  have  mercy  upon  me  

through  His  blessed  Son  and  the  ador- 
able Mary.    Stoop  down  here  1  want — 

to  whisper— something  to  you.    This  pain 

is  terrible !     In  the  iron  box  under  the 

 bed  is  your  rightful  money.  Take  

it  for  it  is  your  mother's.'' 

She  fell  back  fainting  under  the  great  pain  that  racked 
her  being,  the  livid  hue  of  death  overspread  her  face,  great 
drops  of  perspiration  stood  out  on  her  forehead,  and  her 
eyes  became  glassy  and  set. 

With  an  imploring  cry  to  Heaven  for  pardon,  and  to 


The  Revelation. 


receive  the  soul  of  the  dying  woman,  Charlotte  threw  her. 
self  on  her  knees,  while  Louis  Montaine  stood  gazing  at 
the  now  almost  corpse  like  one  petrified  into  a  stoae 
image. 

The  next  day  the  mortal  remain?  of  old  Mrs.  Hayes,  the 
town's  thorn,  were  committed  to  the  earth,  and  as  no  one 
was  there  to  claim  her  effects,  they  were  left  to  the  disposal 
of  two  old  women  who  had  performed  the  last  sad  offices 
for  her,  but  at  Charlotte's  instance  Arthur  had  the  old 
iron  box  removed  to  their  home,  and  on  opening  it  it  was 
found  to  contain  a  paper  proving  to  be  a  will,  bequeathing 
to  Charlotte  Howard  a  pile  of  bank-notes  amounting  to 
over  ten  thousand  dollars. 

Arthur  shouted  and  bounded  with  joy  and  relief,  but 
poor,  doomed  Charlotte  sat  in  her  room  with  clasped 
hands,  and  in  despairing  tones  murmured,  gazing  upon  the 
jeweled  ring  that  seemed  to  bind  her  to  misery,  "Too  late, 
too  late  !  ah,  too  late  !  only  one  week  too  late  ! 


THE  SILVER  CASKET. 


((/^  ome  in,"  responded  Mr.  Bentley,  as  Louis  Mori taine 
doubting,  yet  convinced  by  many  circumstances 
cS^  that  there  might  be  some  truth  in  the  revelation  he 
had  heard,  knocked  at  his  guardian's  study-door  to  find  out, 
if  possible,  something  further  regarding  this  painful  dis- 
closure. 

"Guardie,"  the  young  man  said,  using  the  old  familiar 
epithet  he  had  accustomed  himself  to  style  his  guardian, 
"I  do  hope  you  are  not  busy,  for  I  want  to  have  a  short 
talk  with  you  on  a  very  particular  subject." 

"I  am  at  your  disposal,  my  son,  take  a  seat.'" 

Drawing  a  chair  forward,  Louis  Mon taine  said  in  a  low, 
troubled  tone : 

"I  have  just  now  heard  a  very  strange,  inexplicable  reve- 
lation. I  do  not  want  to,  in  fact  can  not,  believe  it.  Did  you 
ever  hear  that  I  had  a  sister  ?  that  I  was  not  the  only  child 
of  my  parents,  which  I  always  believed?" 

A  decided  pallor  came  to  Mr.  Bentley's  calm  face,  and  a 
troubled  expression  to  his  mild  e^es,  which  fell  for  an 
instant  under  the  questioning  gaze  bent  upon  him,  he  hesi- 
tated, then  asked  : 

"Why,  where  did  you  hear  this  from,  my  son?" 

"Mr.  Bentley,  is  this  so?  Do  not  tantalize  me.  What 
does  it  all  mean  ?  I  will  and  must  know.  I  always  felt 
there  was  a  mystery  about  my  life;  something  about  my 
mother  kept  from  me,  and  for  God's  sake,  if  you  know 
what  it  is,  do  not  keep  me  in  suspense  !  I  can  see  you 
know  about  this,  and  pray  relieve  my  mind  ;  this  suspense 
is  worse  than  any  thing  you  could  tell  me,''  and  the  ques- 
tioner grew  intensely  pale  and  seriously  agitated. 

"  My  son,  being  unauthorized,  I  can  not  say  any  thing  on 


The  Silver  Casket. 


239 


this  subject ;  but  will  give  you  a  casket  entrusted  to  my 
care  by  your  father  on  his  death-bed.  I  have  wished,  and 
so  had  your  dear  parent,  that  I  could  have  destroyed  it, 
and  thus  keep  from  your  knowledge  the  painful  contents. 
But  as  I  see  you  intend  to  marry  your  cousin  shortly,  the 
time  has  come  for  me  to  deliver  it  into  your  keeping.  It 
was  the  wish,  the  labor  of  your  father's  life  to  keep  it 
from  you,  for  )  our  happiness  and  peace ;  but  it  is  yours 
now,  and  I  will  get  it  from  this  drawer  where  it  has  lain 
undisturbed  since  I  put  it  there  four  years  ago." 

Rising,  with  intense  emotion,  Mr.  Bentley  went  to  his 
private  drawer,  and  taking  therefrom  the  silver  casket  con- 
signed to  his  care  under  such  sad  circumstances,  laid  it  up- 
on the  table,  then  clasping  his  hands  he  said  : 

u  Louis,  my  son,  before  we  part  let  me  implore  God 
to  give  you  His  strength  to  bear  this  heavy  trial  before 
you." 

Pale,  intensely  pale,  his  hands  clasped  nervously,  the 
young  man  knelt  and  remained  in  humble,  devout  attention 
while  a  fervent  petition  went  up  to  Heaven  for  aid,  direc- 
tion, and  especially  a  forgiving  heart  toward  an  earthly, 
erring  transgressor. 

"I  can  take  this  now?"  was  all  he  said,  as  he  arose  from 
his  knees  and  laid  his  tremulous  hand  upon  the  tarnished 
casket.  Mr.  Bentley  nodded,  and  the  young  man  left  the 
room. 

With  pale  agitation,  Louis  Montaine,  after  reaching  his 
apartment,  with  some  difficulty  undid  the  clasp  of  the  box 
so  unexpectedly  put  into  his  possession.  The  cover  flew 
up  and  disclosed  to  his  view  its  contents.  Several  sheets 
of  paper  closely  written  and  turning  yellow  from  age  lay 
within.  With  considerable  trepidation,  and  with  the  intense 
interest  he  felt  portrayed  on  his  face,  the  young  man  took 
up  the  top  sheet  of  the  long  letter  he  knew,  from  the  chi- 
rography,  to  be  from  his  father.  It  was  dated  five  years 
back  and  ran  verbatim  as  follows  : 

My  Beloved  Boy  and  Only  Idolized  Child — My  hand  shrinks  from  the 
task,  my  heart  stands  appalled  to  put  here  in  written  words  the  story 


240 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


of  my  wrongs,  the  bitter  misery  of  my  life,  and  addressed  to  you,  my 
cherished  son,  my  only  child.  May  God,  in  His  infinite  mercy,  so  order 
it  that  you  may  never  read  these  lines,  but  if  not,  oh  !  my  boy,  forgive 
me  for  casting  a  shadow  of  my  sorrow  over  your  young  life.  I  feel  a 
strange  foreboding  at  times  that  I  will  not  live  to  see  you  arrive  to  man- 
hood. What  it  is  I  can  not  define,  but  a  conviction  seems  to  warn  me 
that  I  will  not  live  much  longer.  If  it  was  not  for  you,  I  would  gladly 
lay  down  the  burden  of  life;  but  it  is  agony  when  I* feel  if  I  go  you  will 
be  left  alone  in  this  sin-stained  and  oft  joyless  world. 

It  has  been  my  study,  my  determination,  to  keep  what  I  am  about  to 
divulge  from  you,  for  the  knowledge  of  it  will  only  embitter  your  free, 
nappy  life,  and  ease  or  help  my  sorrow  none. 

The  quiver  which  has  sent  with  merciless  darts  its  arrows  at  my  heart 
is  not  yet  satisfied,  and  now  in  these  latter  years,  when  the  freshness  of 
the  wound  prints  is  somewhat  healed  and  life  not  quite  so  unbearable, 
another,  and  poignantly  bitter  one,  is  sent  from  the  same  hand.  And 
what  increases  its  intense  sting,  it  comes  this  time  through  you,  my  dar- 
ling boy.  I  do  not  blame  you,  my  child ;  you  do  not  know  how  you 
are  cutting  the  lacerated  heart  of  your  dear  father,  and  it  is  my  wish, 
my  prayerful  desire,  that  you  should  never  know,  not  until  every  other 
means  is  exhausted  to  dispel  the  fatal  attachment  that  enthralls  you 
now.  My  boy,  my  noble,  noble  Louis,  you  can  not,  you  must  not  wed 
your  cousin,  the  daughter  of  Horace  Burgoyne,  and,  as  a  last  resort,  I  feel 
compelled  to  let  you  know  my  objections. 

Is  it  an  unforgiving  heart  for  terrible  wrongs,  and  an  utter  disregard  to 
the  divine  command,  "Not  seven  times,  but  seventy  times  seven,  ye 
must  forgive  your  brethren  their  trespasses,  if  ye  wish  to  be  forgiven," 
that  I  protest  against  this  union  of  my  boy  and  the  daughter  of  Horace 
Burgoyne?  If  so,  may  my  pitying  Master  judge  me  in  mercy.  I  try  to^ 
forgive  but  I  can  not  reconcile  my  mind  to  allow  this  man  to  triumph 
over  me  more,  by  allowing  you  to  exalt  his  offspring  to  the  dignity  of 
your  proud  name,  and  through  you  let  him  and  his  enjoy  the  wealth 
he  covets,  and  which  through  his  base  instrumentality  was  made  worthless 
to  me  A  life  of  happiness  spoiled  and  blotted  out,  a  stain  of  the  deep- 
est dye  to  mar  the  fair  fame  of  a  pure,  sweet,  trusting  woman,  a  soul 
lost  forever,  perhaps.  Would  it  not  require  Divinity  Himself  to  for- 
give the  friend  who,  like  the  serpent  of  old,  invaded  an  earthly  Para- 
dise and  wrought  this  blight,  this  curse  within  its  holy  precincts,  and 
yet  my  child,  my  noble  boy,  I  ask  you  to  forgive.  Oh  !  how  the  heart 
smarts  to  recall  these  agonizing  memories ;  but,  for  your  good,  I  will 
try  to  graphically  sketch  my  past  life,  and  explain  to  you  the  reason 
why  1  never  spoke  of  your  mother,  whom  you,  in  the  loneliness  of  your 
childish  years,  learned  to  love  and  venerate.  I  shrink  from  breaking 
this  sweet  joy  and  privilege  of  your  life,  but  as  I  am  not  the  only 
witness  of  these  scathing,  cruel  truths,  I  think  it  best  sometimes  that 
you  should  hear  it  from  me. 

As  you  know,  your  aunt  Harriet  and  I,  were  the  only  two  surviving  chil- 
dren of  the  seven  who  once  clustered  around  your  paternal  grandparents 
hearth.  Five  of  us  died  in  childhood,  our  lives  being  spared  to  drink  the 
bitterest  cups  of  woe.  For  a  short  time  my  life  seemed  very  bright  and 
joyous  to  me,  and  even  now,  at  this  late  day,  ruy  being  thrills  with  trans- 
ports of  bliss  when  I  recall  the  first  wedded  months  of  my  life,  and  when 
you,  my  boy,  was  first  given  to  me  and  I  saw  your  young  mother  rally 
from  the  brink  of  the  gra  ^e,  restored  to  life  and  health,  I  felt  indeed  that 


The  Silver  Casket. 


241 


Elysium  was  open  to  me.  But  alas,  how  soon  was  it  dispelled,  blasted 
forever ! 

We  had  been  traveling  in  Europe  up  to  this  time,  but  when  you  were 
about  three  months  old,  we  returned  to  Charleston  and  commenced 
housekeeping  at  our  grandly  furnished  and  elegant  home  on  street. 

After  a  short  rest,  and  general  arrangement,  cards  of  invitation  were 
issued  for  a  grand  reception,  and  very  soon  our  palatial  home  became 
the  centre  of  attraction  for  the  elite  and  fashionables  of  the  city.  Your 
mother,  fully  restored  to  health,  refined  from  travel,  and  mingling  in  pol- 
ished European  society,  her  beauty  fully  matured,  vivacious,  elegantly 
graceful  and  courteous,  eager  for  pleasure,  popularity,  and  the  desire  to 
shine  as  a  star  in  the  brilliant  life  opened  before  her,  and  untrammelled 
by  maternal  cares,  (for  Mrs.  Hayes,  your  foster-mother,  was  an  efficient  and 
kindly  nurse)  your  young  and  beautiful  mother  went  heart  and  soul  into 
every  pleasure  that  presented  itself. 

Gradually  but  painfully  I  began  to  experience  the  effects  of  having  a 
fashionable  wife.  ~The  old,  happy,  quiet  hours  spent  together,  the  sweet 
communion,  waned  day  by  day — until  soon  no  time  was  found  for  me — 
on  she  drifted,  just  as  it  suited  or  pleased  her,  and  remonstrance  from 
me  was  like  chaff  before  the  wind. 

Those  few  months,  brilliant,  butterfly,  but  dangerous,  fatal  months  to 
my  dear  little  Florence,  my  erring,  blind  child-wife,  passed  like  some 
fevered  dream  to  me.  My  son,  can  I  form  in  words  the  import  of  all  this 
hidden  anguish  that  swept  all,  and  forever,  the  joy  and  short-lived  happi- 
ness from  my  life  and  stigmatized  your  mother?  Ah  !  would  to  God  that 
I  could  hide  it ;  but  if  you  will,  with  that  young  mother's  inherent  self- 
will,  persist  in  marrying  your  cousin,  necessity  compels  the  upheaval  of 
all  this  hidden  misery. 

During  our  absence  abroad,  your  aunt  Harriet  had  married  a  handsome, 
fascinating  adventurer,  with  nothing  to  recommend  him  but  his  polished, 
gentlemanly  manners,  his  winning  beguilements,  and  the  great  beauty  of 
his  face  and  form.  With  genuine  good-will  and  Southern  hospitality  I 
welcomed  them  to  our  home,  as  they  had  been  traveling  and  had  not  yet 
decided  to  settle  down. 

Very  soon  he  won  my  affection,  and  with  a  trusting  heart  as  to  the 
faithfulness  of  my  gay  young  wife,  I  thought  nothing  when  I  heard  Flor- 
ence call  him  a  splendid  man,  and  smiled  indulgently  when  she  wondered 
how  Harriet  had  won  such  a  divinely  handsome  husband;  but  with  a 
poignant  pang  of  jealousy,  but  no  fear,  heard  her  say  regretfully,  "  I  al- 
ways wanted  to  marry  a  handsome  man,  just  such  an  Apollo  as  this,  and 
to  think  I  was  cajoled  into  marrying  such  an  old,  ugly  creature  like 
you?" 

This  was  in  the  beginning,  and  all  through  the  brilliant,  but  to  me 
miserable  life  of  which  I  have  written,  Horace  Burgoyne  figured  conspic- 
uously. By  degrees,  almost  imperceptibly,  he  grew  more  devoted  to 
your  mother,  familiarly  styling  her  "  Sister  Florrie,"  and  taking  open, 
unchecked  privileges  with  her.  Well,  and  what  was  the  end?  Ah,  God! 
and  must  I  tell  you,  my  son  ?  Louis,  pity  your  father  ;  but,  in  God's 
name,  pity  your  erring,  blind  mother,  the  charmed  victim  of  a  vile 
serpent!  Fain  would  I  stop  here  ;  but  you  must  know  all,  even  if  it  has 
to  cast  a  stigma  on  your  parents'  name,  and  make  you  turn  with  loathing 
from  the  being  who  brought  you  into  existence.  Well,  let  me  try  and 
bring  this  trying  time  to  a  close.  That  spring  your  mother,  my  wife,  left 
her  lawful  husband's  home  and  protection,  and  fled  with  Horace  Bur- 


242 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


goyne  to  Europe.  Harriet  going  with  them,  hushed  any  wide-spread 
slander  ;  but  in  anguish  and  degradation,  I  went  over  to  the  plantation  to 
hide  my  shame  and  agony.    You  were  my  onty  solace  then,  my  boy. 

Five  months  after  that  terrible  night,  when  I  first  learned  of  her  flight 
she  came  back  pleading  for  mercy,  for  shelter  from  the  world's  scorn, 
and  I  took  her  in.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  recognize  a  remnant  of  the 
sweet,  bright,  beautiful  girl,  whom  you  know  as  your  mother,  in  the  ghast- 
ly, wild-eyed  woman  who  knelt  at  my  feet  praying  for  pity  and  for- 
giveness. 

Ah,  my  son,  when  you  were  wont  to  stand  and  gaze  upon  the  representa- 
tion of  that  youthful  parent,  in  all  of  her  unsullied  purity,  another  por- 
trait was  painted  in  vivid,  glowing  colors  on  my  memory,  which  would 
call  unbidden  a  heavy  sigh  from  my  burnt,  seared  heart,  often  causing  a 
shadow  to  flit  over  your  free,  joyous  boyhood. 

Early  in  November,  not  much  more  than  a  year  after  you  were  born, 
she  gave  birth  to  a  child,  a  living  witness  to  her  shame  and  degradation, 
and  died  a  few  minutes  after.  I  called  Mrs.  Hayes,  your  kind  foster- 
mother,  and  bribing  her  heavily,  she  left  the  country  that  night  with  the 
child,  promising  to  rear  and  take  good  care  of  it,  but  never  to  return,  nor 
divulge  a  word  of  this  trust  imposed  .upon  her.  Through  Mrs.  Renold's 
forethought  and  kindness  to  me  and  you,  not  an  individual  around,  nor 
on  the  plantation,  knew  of  this,  and  so,  one  drop  of  balm  to  my  cup  of 
anguish  was,  that  no  whisper  of  slander  was  ever  heard  abroad.  Mr. 
Bentley  and  Horace  Burgoyne,  to  my  knowledge,  are  the  only  two  living 
witnesses  of  my  sullied  name. 

And  now,  my  son,  my  darling  boy,  do  you  still  wish  to  marry  Irene 
Burgoyne,  the  "daughter  and  counterpart  of  your  young  mother's  be- 
trayer ? 

I  am  weary  and  agonized  at  the  raking  up  of  all  this  sad,  harrowing 
event  of  mv'life,  and  will  close  with  one  last,  earnest  prayer,  that  you 
will  forgive  and  pity,  and  still  love  the  memory  of  your  young,  tempted, 
unfortunate  mother,  and  do  not  attempt  to  avenge  her  or  my  wrongs. 
Your  loving,  but  unhappy,  sorrowing  father, 

Edwin  Montaine. 

Word  for  word,  without  pausing,  his  eyes  like  burning 
orbs,  his  face  white  and  livid,  his  mouth  compressed  like  a 
vice,  and  his  cold,  almost  nerveless  fingers  grasping  the 
letter,  Louis  Montaine  sat  and  read  as  if  in  a  trance,  and 
like  one  under  the  delusion  of  some  nightmare  he  laid  it 
down.  For  several  seconds  he  sat  thus ;  still,  motionless, 
stunned  beyond  comprehension.  Gradually  but  vividly 
the  fatal  truth  began  to  unfold  itself,  and  soon  dawned  with 
noonday  clearness  to  his  recovered  senses. 

Clasping  his  hands  to  his  head,  he  exclaime  !  in  accents 
of  piercing  anguish  and  remorse,  "Oh  !  God,  my  poor  fath- 
er !"  His  frame  shook  with  the  shuddering  pangs  that  seem- 
ed to  rend  his  soul  as  he  murmured,  "Father,  father,  and 


The  Silver  Casket.  243 

to  think  that  I,  his  only  child,  his  only  solace,  should  turn 
the  keenest  edge  to  his  sorrow.  Oh  !  father,  would  to  God, 
that  I  could  kneel  at  your  feet  and  crave  your  forgiveness. 
But  ah,  it  is  too  late,  too  late  now  ;  would  that  I  could  have 
seen  my  folly  and  infatuation  as  I  see  it  now,  before  death 
came  and  snatched  you  from  me.  But  my  father,  happy  in 
Paradise,  I  have  suffered  untold  agony.  I  have  suffered, 
and  am  suffering  now.  God  has  dealt  me  out  my  punishment 
for  my  disobedience  to  you." 

And  thus  he  moaned  out  his  misery  and  contrition,  as 
crushed,  sorrowful,  and  remorseful  he  sat,  wave  after  wave 
of  fresh  thought,  new  torment,  and  poignant  remorse 
breaking  over  him.  No  balm  to  ease,  to  erase  one  sting,  no 
plea  to  offer  his  merciless  conscience;  no  consolation  to 
soothe  the  keenness  of  his  sorrow,  no  sympathizing  heart 
near  to  soften  his  anguish.  Alone  he  had  to  meet,  wres- 
tle and  endure. 

Still  clearer,  more  vividly,  the  full  meaning  and  charac- 
ter of  the  Jetter  he  had  just  read  dawned  upon  him,  as  the 
misty  effects  of  the  stunning  blow  cleared  away.  Other 
emotions,  with  maddening  intensity  superseded  the  first  sen- 
sation of  pain  and  remorse  ;  anger  and  repugnance,  with  a 
wild  wish  for  vengeance  took  possession  of  his  excited 
mind,  and  with  the  hot  flush  mantling  his  brow,  his  eyes 
kindling  with  the  inward  fire  that  burnt  to  a  white  heat  of 
fury,  he  paced  the  floor  feverishly.  At  each  step  thought 
surged  madly  on,  and  as  the  full  realization  of  the  cruel 
blow  dealt  by  Horace  Burgoyne  came  yet  clearer  to  his 
mind,  he  hissed : 

"And  is  this  the  man  that  I  have  shielded?  Is  this  the 
man  that  I  would  gratify  by  wedding  his  daughter,  and  thus 
allow  him  to  trample  yet  more  upon  my  noble  father's 
proud  name,  and  give  him  future  security  to  tread  Ameri- 
can soil,  and  sully  it  by  his  foot-prints  ?  Ah  !  no,  never ! 
Faithless  adulterer,  thief,  murderer,  demon  in  human 
guise,  I  will  punish  you  yet !" 

"Father,  father,  I  will  avenge  thy  wrongs !  Life  has  no 
charms  for  me.   Horace  Burgoyne  shall  pay  for  the  wrongs 


244 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


meted  out  to  yon.  I  will  not  rest  until  you,  and  my  ruin- 
ed  mother,  are  amply  avenged  ;  and  then  let  life  give  what 
it  has  in  store  for  me.  If  your  life  was  blighted,  your 
hopes  ruined,  I  am  heir  to  the  same.  With  his  life  blood 
shall  Horace  Burgoyne  pay  for  the  tarnish  he  has  r5ut  upon 
our  proud  name.  He  shall  kneel  and  crave  for  pardon, 
but  shall  obtain  none ;  he  had  no  mercy  on  mine  ,  and  I 
shall  have  none  on  him." 

With  a  stern,  resolute  face  and  compressed  lips,  he  took 
his  seat  before  the  desk  and  wrote  : 

Miss  Irene  Burgoyne — Sudden  and  unapprehended  circumstances  have 
transpired  which  will  of  necessity  and  unalterably,  certainly,  forever  sever 
the  ties  that  have  existed  between  us.  We  will  not  get  married  this  spring 
as  arranged,  and  never  hereafter.  I  have  just  learned  my  father's  objec- 
tions to  our  union,  and  fully  agree  with  him  that  you  can  never  become 
my  wife.  Let  this  explanation  suffice.  Would  that  I  could  also  cast  aside 
the  relationship  that  compels  me  to  name  you  cousin.  I  do  not  require 
thai  you  should  return  any  gift  received  from  me,  but  leave  it  to  your 
pleasure.  I  leave  to-night  for  New  York,  and  from  thence  will  start  im- 
mediately for  Europe,  where  I  hope  to  meet  your  father  and  explain 
matters  to  him. 

Please  let  what  I  have  said  suffice,  and  give  up  at  once  and  forever  all 
hope  of  ever  becoming  my  wife,  for  understand  that  no  power  in  Heaven 
nor  on  earth  could  make  me  now  marry  a  child  of  Horace  JUirgoyne. 

Louis  Montaine. 

Without  flinching  he  folded,  sealed  and  addressed  this 
cruel  missive,  little  dreaming  or  caring  what  anguish  it  por- 
tended to  its  intended  recipient.  As  he  laid  it  aside  a 
quick,  transient  look  of  relief  flitted  over  his  face,  but  it 
was  soon  superseded  by  an  expression  of  pain  and  suffering, 
lie  laid  his  head  on  the  desk  in  a  weary  dejection;  for  a 
moment  a  convulsive  shudder  shook  his  frame,  and  a  moan 
of  anguish  came  from  his  highly  wrought  heart;  then  rais- 
ing it  suddenly,  he  drew  paper  before  him  and  wrote: 

Mm  Howard — I  intend  leaving  to-night  for  New  York,  on  my  way  to 
Europe,  where  1  will  remain  for  an  indefinite  period.  The  wish  to  say  a 
few  words  and  request  a  favor  at  your  hands,  prompts  these  lines  which  I 
hope  yon  will  excuse. 

The  strange  story  related  this  week  by  old  Mrs.  Hayes,  thougli  in  some 
few  particulars  true,  is  not  altogether  so,  for  your  adopted  sister,  Lila,  as 
vouched  by  her,  is  not  my  sister.  She  prohably  believed  so,  and  felt  safe 
in  swearing  to  it  as  a  fact;  but  she  was  under  a  grievous,  a  decided  mis- 
take.   I  am  certain  of  this ;  I  have  positive  proof  that  I  am  the  only 


• 


The  Silver  Casket. 


245 


child  of  my  father ;  he  never  had  a  daughter.  And,  Miss  Charlotte,  may 
I  ask.  as  a  last  favor,  that  you  will  never  reveal  what  you  have  heard,  as 
it  might  originate  a  very  unpleasant  and  wholly  untrue  slander  against 
my  sainted  father's  name  ? 

And  now  allow  me  to  bid  you  an  indefinite,  perhaps  final,  farewell ;  and 
in  your  anticipated  coming  happiness  think  sometimes  in  kindness  of  the 
exiled  wanderer,  who  will  ever  wish  for  your  happiness  and  welfare. 

As  you  will  doubtless  hear.  I  will  tell  you  my  engagement  is  broken 
with  my  cousin.  I  am  free  at  last  from  those  galling  fetters ;  but.  Miss 
Charlotte,  you  will  never  hear  of  my  marriage  with  another,  and  if  you 
should  hear  of  some  monstrous  deed  committed  by  me,  let  me  stand  in- 
demnified in  your  heart,  and  believe  the  provocation  more  than  justified 
the  offense. 

I  leave  to-night,  and  may  God  grant  that  you  will  some  day  think  better 
of  me.  I  always  loved  yon  truly,  exclusively,  and  will  continue  to  do  so 
until  you  have  become  the  wife  of  another ;  then  the  crime  will  force  me 
to  think  of  you  no  longer,  and  my  empty  heart  will  have  to  return  and 
feed  upon  the  sad  past  only. 

Again,  beloved  of  my  soul,  farewell, 

Yours  despairingly,  Louis  Montaine. 

Louis  Montaine  left  that  night  on  his  voluntary  self- 
exile.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  which  of  the  trio  was  the 
most  wretched. 

The  one,  smiling  and  happy  and  gloriously  lovely,  await- 
ing her  lover's  coming,  is  borne  to  her  room  in  wild,  ago- 
nizing hysterics,  clutching  convulsively  the  white  sheet  of 
paper  which  is  a  death-warrant  to  all  her  bright  dreams  of 
almost  realized  anticipations  of  happiness  and  triumph. 

The  other,  silent  and  pale,  a  still  anguish  in  the  depth  of 
her  eyes  and  stamped  upon  the  beautiful,  suffering  face, 
has  to  stifle  it  down  with  a  whisper  of  agony,  and  go  down- 
stairs an  hour  later  to  entertain  her  unloved  lover. 

Louis  Montaine  realizes  not  the  woes  he  leaves  behind 
him  that  night,  as  he  leans  back  on  his  couch  in  the  whirl- 
ing train  in  a  moody,  stern  dejection,  but  is  thinking  of  his 
father,  his  mother.  Heedless  of  the  command  of  Jeho- 
vah, "Vengeance  is  mine,"  he  is  trying  to  devise  some 
potent,  sure  revenge  on  the  base  serpent  who  had  despoiled 
his  father's  Eden.  Could  he  have  seen  the  half-crazed  girl 
he  had  cast  off  and  realized  her  disappointment,  her  baf- 
fled, crushed  hopes  and  deep  despair,  he  must  have  felt  the 
Scriptural  truth  that  the  child  was  atoning  for  her  parent's 
misdeed,  but  he  thinks  not  of  behind  as  he  speeds  away, 

16 


246 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


but  is  only  thinking  of  his  purpose  to  avenge  his  wronged 
parents,  and  purify  the  blemish  on  his  proud  name,  until 
the  one  thought  rose  paramount  to  all  other  considerations; 
traveling  on,  the  one  wish  on  his  heart,  forgetful  of  all 
else,  to  visit  sure,  dire  punishment  on  the  vile  bet^yer  of 
his  young  mother  and  the  traitorous  enemy  of  his  dear, 
noble  father. 


"VENGEANCE  IS  MINE,  I  WILL  REPAY." 

• 


fT  was  the  latter  part  of  August,  six  weeks  since  the 
revelation  of  his  father's  wrongs  had  cast  its  gloomy 
pall  over  his  life,  and  whether  he  had  repented  of  his 
vow  of  vengeance,  or  had  not  definitely  determined  what 
course  to  pursue  in  visiting  it  upon  the  base  criminal,  ex- 
iled on  foreign  land,  or  whether  the  sublime  grandeur  of 
Niagara  held  him  at  bay,  we  can  not  say,  bat  certainly  one 
reason  or  the  other  made  Louis  Montaine  linger. 

On  a  beautiful  afternoon  of  this  regal  month  we  find 
him  sitting  alone,  a  broad-brimmed  hat  on  his  head,  and  a 
sketch-book  idly  lying  by  his  side.  Sitting  and  watching 
in  rapt  attention  and  awed  admiration  the  magnificent 
spectacle  before  him,  its  thundering  voice  and  majestic 
beauty  loudly  proclaiming  the  power  of  its  mighty  Archi- 
tect. 

He  looked  pale  and  haggard  ;  his  eyes  had  a  weary,  sad 
expression  lurking  in  their  depths  and  were  circled  by  heavy, 
dark  lines,  and  his  mouth  compressed  into  its  characteristic 
sternness  made  one  instinctively  feel  that  he  had  not 
smiled  for  many  a  long  day,  and  casting  a  repelling,  haugh- 
ty look  over  his  otherwise  refined,  handsome  visage. 

While  thus  lost  seemingly  to  all  around,  soaring  above 
finitude  and  reality,  oblivious  to  every  thing,  in  a  lofty 
dream  of  awe  and  wonder  to  the  Great  Creator  of  so  grand 
and  soul-thrilling  a  scene,  a  party  of  young  ladies  came  up 
to  where  he  was  sitting,  and  in  their  wild  expressions  of 
delight  and  admiration,  and  as  if  with  a  kindred  feeling  of 
sympathetic  emotions,  he  was  instantly  attracted  toward 
them.  They  were  strangers,  and  handsome,  stylish-looking 
girls,  and  from  their  behavior  he  judged  they  were  recent 
arrivals. 


248  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

"  Oh !  Ada,  how  beautiful,  how  grand !  "  exclaimed  one, 
in  a  rapture  of  delight. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  it  is  grand,  sublime ! "  was  the  rejoinder 
in  tones  of  rapt  admiration. 

4<  I  wish  we  had  come  here  earlier  in  the  season,  >  could 
never  tire  of  so  much  beauty  and  magnificence.  And 
what  a  lovely  view  from  this  spot !    It  is  superb,  Ida." 

"  Perfectly  so,"  was  the  reply  of  the  third  one  of  the 
party,  a  pretty,  insipid  blonde,  who  stood  seemingly  rapt 
in  admiration  and  awe.  "  The  half  has  not  been  told  us  of 
the  interest  and  beautiful  sublimity  of  this  lavish  expendi- 
ture of  nature's  gifts.  Description  falls  into  insignificance 
with  the  realization  of  its  grandeur.  Oh,  Lois,  how  stu- 
pendous and  beautiful  it  is  ! "  and  she  clasped  her  hands  in 
a  dramatic  style,  with  a  covert,  coquettish  glance  at  the 
young  gentleman  so  near  by,  for  whose  benefit  they  seemed 
acting,  as  they  were  careful  he  should  hear  what  they  had 
to  say  ;  and  Louis  Montaine,  without  any  breach  of  honor, 
felt  privileged  to  listen,  as  they  knew  of  his  presence,  and 
thus  became  an  interested  listener  to  what  followed, 

"  Yes,  indeed,  my  dear  Ida,  it  is  past  all  my  most  sanguine 
expectations,"  was  the  reply.  Then,  while  a  shade  flitted 
over  her  handsome,  brilliant  face,  she  continued,  addressing 
the  first  lady,  and  apparently  the  youngest  of  the  three : 

"  Ada,  how  I  wish  that  Wallie  had  come  with  us,  I  feel 
the  enchantment  of  this  scene  would  prove  a  balm  soothing 
to  his  almost  broken  heart,  and  chase  much  of  the  melan- 
choly from  his  spirits.  Don't  you  think  we  had  better 
write  at  once,  and  endeavor  to  prevail  on  him  to  join  us 
here  and  remain  with  us  until  we  return  home?" 

"Yes,  Lois,  I  think  it  would  interest  him  much  more 
than  the  tame  boating  and  bathing  at  Long  Branch.  As 
you  can  wield  the  pen  so  much  more  eloquently  and  effec- 
tually than  I,  perhaps  you  had  better  undertake  the  task  of 
persuading  him  hither.  I  would  like  him,  too,  for  we  have 
no  escort  as  yet,  and  we  will  want  to  stroll  out  and  see 
these  stupendous  falls  by  moonlight.  Do  write  at  once, 
Lois,  and  use  every  art  you  can  command  to  prevail  on  his 


"  Vengeance  Is  Mine,  I  Will  Repay.' 


249 


instant  coming.  I  know  it  will  be  a  very  beneficial  ab- 
straction.   Poor,  dear  Walter,  I  am  so  sorry  for  him." 

"Were  you  acquainted  with  the  young  lady  that  has 
treated  him  so  shamefully  ?"  asked  Miss  Ida,  a  look  of 
interest  and  concern  on  her  fair,  pretty  face. 

"No,  we  were  not,  I  am  happy  to  say,"  was  the  con- 
temptuous reply,  uwe  were  about  to  make  her  acquaintance, 
that  is,  we  intended  to  stop  and  obtain  an  introduction 
when  we  came  for  you  and  Marie  on  our  way,  and  calcu- 
lated to  induce  her,  on  Wallie's  account,  to  accompany  us, 
but  he  met  us  at  the  depot,  pale,  haggard,  and  seemingly 
aged  ten  years.  'It  is  all  up  with  me,  mother  ;  that  bright 
dream  has  fled,  and  I  do  not  care  what  becomes  of  me  now. 

We  will  not  go  to  S  .    She  has  cast  me  off,  spurned 

my  love,  and  our  engagement  is  broken  ;  so,  of  course, 
you  and  the  girls  will  not  be  welcomed,'  but,"  and  the 
young  lady  colored  and  laughed,  "I  should  not  be  reveal- 
ing his  secrets,  still  I  am  that  provoked  and  indignant  to 
see  my  brother,  my  handsome  Walter,  who  could  aspire  to 
the  highest  lady  in  our  land,  spurned  and  rejected  by  a 
country  girlj  the  very  idea  makes  me  half  mad  with  vexa- 
tion. If  he  only  gets  over  it  without  serious  detriment  to 
his  heart,  of  course  we  will  all  like  it  much  better,  for 
though  we  made  no  objection,  you  know  it  is  not  pleasant 
to  have  a  total  stranger  brought  to  you  and  be  expected  to 
love  and  serve  her  like  some  exalted  creature  of  earth,  or 
Heaven  rather,  for  Walter  deemed  her  an  angel,  or  at  any 
rate  possessing  angelic  qualities." 

The  young  ladies  laughed,  and  Lois  remarked  quite 
spitefully : 

"I  presume  his  opinion  is  altered  now,  for  I  should  not 
think  any  one  so  divine  would  stoop  to  coquetry  and  enjoy 
making  conquests." 

"  Were  they  engaged,  as  I  understood,  or  was  he  only 
paying  court  to  her  ?  "  asked  Miss  Ida,  trying  to  appear  un- 
concerned, but  in  fact  looking  very  interested. 

"  Formally  engaged,"  was  the  answer  in  chorus,  and 
Lois  went  on  :    "I  saw  her  letter  accepting  his  offer  of 


250 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


marriage,  and  papa  gave  Wallie  a  superb  diamond  of  great 
bean  t v  and  cost  as  the  betrothal  ring.  Walter  left  home 
perfectly  insane  with  joy,  vowing  he  had  won  a  perfect 
angel,  and  predicted  that  we  would  all  fall  down  in  love 
and  worship  when  we  had  seen  and  knew  her.  We* all  ac- 
cepted it  in  good  faith,  and  behold !  in  one  month  after  he 
comes  back  almost  broken-hearted,  and  says  it  has  all  come 
to  an  end.  It  is  no  use  trying  to  gain  his  confidence,  he 
will  not  say  what  happened,  but  reiterates  that  it  is  all  over, 
and  that  he  is  just  ready  to  die." 

"She  must  have  been  very  heartless  and  exceedingly 
hard  to  please,'-  was  Miss  Ida's  comment.  "  Who  was 
she?" 

"  Miss  Howard — Charlotte  Howard.  I  thought  her  very 
beautiful  and  sweet-looking,  if  one  could  judge  from  a 
picture." 

"Why,  is  it  possible  ?"  exclaimed  Miss  Ida,  her  blue  eyes 
opening  with  surprise.  M  I  have  seen  her  several  times  at 
the  '  Head,'  and  now,  recalling  the  circumstance,  I  re- 
member seeing  your  brother  out  riding  with  her  one  after- 
noon, and  he  was  quite  attentive  to  her  at  the  Commence- 
ment ball.  1  know  her  well  by  sight,  having  seen  her  ride 
by  the  hotel  a  number  of  times  in  company  with  a  tall, 
delicate  young  man — some  minister's  son  I  was  told — who 
was  very  spoony  in  that  direction.  She  looks  to  be  very 
proud  and  heartless.  In  fact,  I  heard  she  was  a  real  coquette, 
and  had  broken  the  hearts  of  several  of  the  young  students, 
and  I  presume  your  brother  is  one  of  her  charmed  but 
stung  victims." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  presume  so,"  echoed  the  sisters,  their  faces 
flushing  indignantly  and  their  eyes  flashing  sparks  of  fire. 
"I  only  hope  Wallie  will  see  her  in  her  true  light  and  not 
break  his  heart  on  so  worthless  an  object,  but  transfer  it  on 
some  one  else.  Set  your  cap,  Ida,  he  will  be  a  good  catch, 
and  I  would,  for  one,  dearly  love  to  call  you  sister  ; 
but  in  earnest,  do  try,  Ida,  to  cure  him  of  this  blind  infatu- 
ation/' 

"Why,  Lois,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  was 


"Vengeance  Is  Mine,  I  Will  Repay."  251 

the  laughing  rejoinder,  and  the  young  lady  blushed  pret- 
tily. 

"Don't  blush,  Ida,"  laughed  Ada,  "I  know  you  are  pretty 
well  affected  in  that  quarter,  and  I,  for  one,  always  wanted 
you  for  Wallie.  Do  your  best,  darling,  to  capture  him 
when  he  comes  ;  it  is  the  only  cure  for  these  disappointed 
swains,  and  they  generally  make  the  best  of  husbands 
too." 

"Hush,  hush,  Ada,  do  not  make  her  blush  so ;  and  do 
you  know  it  is  getting  late  ?  Let  us  start,  or  we  will  be  out 
at  an  unfashionable,  or,  in  fact  imprudent  hour ;  look  at 
the  sun  how  rapidly  he  is  declining,"  and  laughing  and 
chatting,  arm  in  arm  the  girls  glided  away. 

Louis  Montaine  watched  them  as  they  walked  from  his 
sight,  a  curious  look  of  interest  on  his  face  and  a  deep, 
strange  light  in  his  eyes,  which  they  had  not  worn  for  many 
a  long  day.  He  arose  and  also  wended  his  way  to  his  hotel, 
his  step  lighter,  and  a  decided  change  resting  on  his  counte- 
nance. Had  the  conversation  been  for  his  benefit,  or  was 
it  a  providential  circumstance  that  had  conveyed  to  his 
knowledge  the  dissolution  of  an  engagement  which  had 
cost  him  such  pain,  and  blasted  his  hopes,  and  made  life 
such  a  dreary  burden  ?  Was  Charlotte  Howard  free  ?  The 
very  thought  sent  the  blood  coursing  wildly  through  his 
veins,  dying  the  pale  cheek  with  a  sudden  fire,  and  lighting 
the  handsome,  expressive  eyes  into  their  wonted  beauty. 
The  thought  seemed  to  fan  into  a  leaping  flame  the  dying 
embers  of  hope  on  his  heart's  altar,  and  a  new,  joyous 
aspect  in  life  seemed  to  open  before  him,  making  his  step 
grow  springing  and  buoyant  as  of  old,  and  dissipating 
much  of  the  habitual  sternness  that  had  overcast  his  face 
of  later  days. 

"I  am  quite  a  sanguine  fool,"  he  soliloquized,  checking 
the  sudden  rebound  of  his  feelings,  "to  let  this  little  bit 
of  feminine  gossip  or  hearsay  inspire  me  with  this  sudden 
enthusiastic  joy,  and  infuse  new  hope  and  life  into  my 
being.  If  they  have  quarrelled  and  broken  their  engage- 
ment, it  might  possibly  be  made  up  again,  and  even  if  it  is 


252 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


not,  how  do  I  know,  or  presumptuously  hope,  that  it  can 
be  of  any  benefit  to  me  ?  She  does  not  care  fcr  me,  I  am 
afraid,  and  there  are  plenty  eager  to  win  her  favor. 
That  'minister's  son,'  is  Harry,  I  know,  and  I  am  very 
much  disposed  to  think  that  he  is  the  favored  one  in  the 
lady's  eyes,"  but  this  latter  argument  did  not  seem  to  make 
much  impression.  A  secret  something,  an  instinctive, 
intuitive  feeling,  made  him  run  up  to  his  room  that  night 
quite  another  being  from  the  night  before. 

He  made  his  evening  toilet  with  unusual  care,  brush- 
ing his  dark  hair  in  alamode  style,  and  smoothing  his  gray 
kids  into  their  perfect  fit,  and  to  the  astonishment  and  de- 
light of  many  bright-eyed  fair  ones,  and  their  mammas, 
entered  the  brilliant  and  well  thronged  drawing-room.  A 
single  glance  satisfied  him  that  his  search  was  unsuccessful. 
The  young  ladies  who  had  entertained  him  so  agreeably 
that  afternoon  were  not  present,  and  he  divined  they  were 
not  stopping  at  that  hotel.  His  idea,  likely,  was  to  obtain 
an  introduction  and  endeavor  to  glean  something  further  on 
the  subject  thrilling  his  being,  and  defend  the  slandered, 
misrepresented  character  of  Charlotte  Howard,  who  he 
felt  had  been  unjustly  censured. 

Restless,  excited  in  mind  by  the  sudden  reaction  of 
thought,  and  sweet  whispers  of  hope  thrilling  his  every 
fibre,  Louis  Montaine  retired  early,  (much  too  early  to  please 
the  disappointed,  expectant  fair  seekers,  who  had  for  a 
month  vainly  striven  to  attract  this  bright,  eligible  star,  little 
divining  that  the  night  he  had  condescended  to  enter  the 
parlors,  he  was  farther  out  of  their  reach  than  ever,)  retired 
to  his  room,  wishing  to  be  alone,  or  feeling  his  own 
thoughts  the  most  agreeable  company  at  present. 

Was  that  seemingly  insurmountable  barrier  broken  asun- 
der? Was  Charlotte  Howard,  that  passionately  loved  ob- 
ject, disenthralled  from  her  engagement?  Was  she  unfet- 
tered, free  ? 

Such  thoughts  crowded  upon  his  mind,  and  he  paced  his 
floor  in  a  delicious,  rapt  reverie,  but  it  did  not  last  long. 
The  slender  thread  on  which  he  rested  his  new  hopes  gave 


"  Vengeance  Is  Mine,  I  Will  Repay."  253 

way,  the  recurrence  of  the  supposition  that  perhaps  it  was 
only  a  transient  lovers  quarrel,  and  ere  this  had  been  recon- 
ciled ;  then  the  thought  of  his  still  unavenged  parents  and 
uncarried-out  determination  came  with  stunning,  painful 
realization.  The  light  and  color  faded  from  his  face,  the 
old  gloom  and  misery  coming  back,  and  with  a  weary  sigh 
he  threw  himself  dejectedly  on  a  chair  placed  by  a  table, 
upon  which  lay  the  unfolded,  still  damp  evening  paper, 
the  gas  jet  flaring  invitingly  above. 

With  a  desire  to  abstract  his  perplexity  and  unrest,  rather 
than  his  usual  avidity  at  its  perusal,  he  took  it  up  and  me- 
chanically rustling  its  leaves,  while  his  gaze,  though  seem- 
ingly on  it,  was  far  away,  and  his  mind  pre-occupied.  List- 
less he  scanned  the  "local  news,"  but  the  interest  was  lacking ; 
the  recent  and  vital  news  he  had  heard  came  forward  per- 
sistently, and  in  evident  disgust  he  pushed  it  from  him. 

As  he  did  so,  something  seemed  to  attract  his  eye,  he  re- 
took it  up,  a  re-awakened  interest  coming  to  his  face,  and 
a  strange  look  to  his  eyes. 

What  was  it  that  sent  the  life  blood  from  his  face,  a 
livid  pallor  taking  its  place,  and  made  him  read  with  such 
sudden  interest  % 

"  A  shocking  announcement."  "Melancholy  ending  of  a 
life  of  sin  and  crime,  licentiousness  and  lawlessness." 

After  this  preface  it  went  on  to  say  with  merciless  news- 
paper publicity,  that  an  American,  an  incarnate  fiend  and 
lawless  man,  by  name  Horace  Burgoyne,  had  come  to  a  fear- 
ful death  in  a  drunken,  riotous  brawl,  in  one  of  the  most 
disreputable  dens  of  licentious  crime  in  Paris.  Giving  a 
glaring  and  rather  high  colored  account  of  his  career  for  the 
past  twelve  or  fourteen  years  in  Charleston,  New  Orleans, 
New  York  and  Paris,  and  winding  up  with  a  vivid  descrip- 
tion of  his  last  end,  and  disgraceful,  terrible,  but  well  merit- 
ed death. 

Louis  Montaine,  pale,  intensely  shocked  and  full  of  con- 
trition, clasped  his  hands  and  raised  his  eyes  toward  Heaven, 
involuntarily  exclaiming :  "Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will 
repay." 


254 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


"  Yes,  yes,"  he  soliloquized  a  few  minutes  later,  having 
recovered  somewhat  from  his  surprise  and  shock,  "  well 
may  I  have,  like  my  poor,  suffering,  wronged  father, 
left  the  punishment  of  this  wicked,  godless  man  in 
Jehovah's  care,  feeling  sure  he  would  not  go  on  much 
longer  in  his  crime  and  lawlessness  unpunished.  Terrible 
and  sudden  as  was  his  reckoning,  Horace  Burgoyne  deserv- 
ed it  all.  And  great,  eternal  Father!  1  thank  Thee,  that 
Thou  hast  seen  fit  to  avenge  my  wronged,  suffering, 
parents.  And  to  think,  for  weeks  I  have  been  planning, 
and  devising  some  means  to  visit  dire  vengeance  on  his 
guilty  head,  but  my  prayers  have  been  heard  and,  without 
staining  my  soul  with  crime,  or  burdening  my  conscience 
with  guilt,  my  father,  my  betrayed,  young  mother,  are 
avenged.  "  My  father  !  Oh  !  my  father  !  would  that  I  had 
obeyed  thy  voice  and  left  this  man  in  an  Eternal  Justice's 
hands ! "  • 

"  Forgive  me!  my  God,  for  my  folly  and  sin,  and  let  me 
learn  to  have  a  perfect  faith  in  Thy  revealed  Word  :  "  The 
wicked  shall  not  go  unpunished,''  and  again,  'Vengeance  is 
mine,  I  will  recompense.'  " 

His  feelings  and  thoughts  were  too  deep  for  further  ut- 
terance, and  for  an  hoir  or  more  he  sat  silent,  wrapped  in 
cogitation  and  speculation. 

Was  he  glad  this  vile  enemy  of  his  father  was  divinely 
punished  and  out  of  his  way  ?  That  he  was  released  from 
his  vow  of  vengeance  ?  Doubtless  he  was.  A  feeling  of 
unutterable  relief  and  satisfaction  diffused  itself  through 
his  whole  being.  Wot  that  he  was  a  coward,  or  shrank 
from  his  determination  formed,  it  is  true,  in  a  moment  of 
heated  and  over-wrought  feelings,  but  that  it  was  in  direct 
opposition  to  his  father's  wishes  and  command.  If  he 
sought  out  and  demanded  satisfaction  from  Horace  Bur- 
goyne it  would  be  disobeying  his  father's  dying  behest ; 
disregarding  his  prayers,  and  degrading  himself  to  a  level  of 
one  of  Satan's  basest  -allies. 

All  these  considerations  had  made  him  hesitate,  falter 
and  procrastinate,  in  his  first  furious,  heated  threatenings  of 


"  Vengeance  Is  Miue,  I  Will  Repay! 


255 


vengeance.  But  now  it  was  done  for  him.  Horace  Bur- 
goyne no  longer  cumbered  this  earth  nor  stood  a  living  fear 
and  torment  to  him.  He  had  been  punished  by  an  over- 
ruling Power  whose  justice  is  as  terrible  and  sure  as  His 
mercy  and  goodness  is  great.  No  wonder  the  soul  of  the 
young  man  burst  forth  in  utterance  of  thankfulness  as  he 
recognized  the  divine  Hand  in  whom  his  father  had  left 
his  wrongs  with  a  perfect,  unwavering,  child-like  faith. 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  feelings  the  sudden  recollec- 
tion of  the  orphaned  girls,  his  unprovided  for  and  unpro- 
tected young  cousins  came  across  his  mind.  "  What  will 
become  of  them?  What  will  'Rene  do  without  her  father's 
maintenance  ?  Poor  girl,"  he  murmured,  "  What  will  be- 
come of  her?  Cast  off  by  me,  deprived  of  her  father's 
support,  what  will  she  do?  Then  Sadie  and  Maud,  they 
depend  on  a  home  with  Irene.  I  promised  to  take  them 
abroad,  and  do  such  great  things,  which,  under  present  cir- 
cumstances, I  cannot  fulfill.  1  wonder  how  'Pene  takes 
her  imposed  freedom  ?  Not  a  word  have  I  heard  of  or  from 
her.  Irene  Burgoyne  can  never  become  my  wife ;  no, 
never.  But  can  not  I,  without  going  against  my  father, 
still  do  for  them  ?  Settle  an  annuity  on  them  until  they 
marry  ?  Or,  if  1  am  ever  settled  in  a  home  of  my  own,  could 
I  not  offer  them  the  protection  and  support  of  it  ?  They 
are  my  cousins,  and  if  the  children  of  Horace  Burgoyne, 
they  are  also  the  children  of  aunt  Harriet,  and  for  her 
sake  I  know  my  father,  if  he  were  here,  would  not  let  them 
suffer,  and  neither  will  I.'' 

This  matter  settled  in  his  mind,  his  thoughts  took  a  new 
channel,  and  from  the  expression  of  his  face,  and  bright 
gleams  from  his  eyes,  we  suspect  they  dwelt  on  a  very  in- 
teresting, delightful  subject. 

Hope  grew  very  strong,  notwithstanding  his  attempts  to 
put  a  damper  on  it.  A  restless,  excited  longing  seemed  to 
possess  him,  and  at  last,  with  a  flushing  brow  and  glitter 
of  his  deep,  passionful  eyes,  he  determined  to  return  to 
his  guardian's  home  and  find  out  for  himself  how  matters 
stood. 


256 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


u  I  will  find  out  this  time  what  is  my  fate.  Charlotte 
Howard  shall  decide  it  for  me,  and  if  it  is  to  be  apart  from 
her,  God  only  can  give  me  strength  to  meet  and  bear  the 
weary  burden  of  life  in  the  future.  For  what  is  life  to 
me  without  her  f  " 


A  BRIGHT  DAWN. 


t  was  with  quite  different  feelings  that  Louis  Montaine 
started  on  his  return  to  his  guardian's  home.  His 
heart  throbbed  wildly,  his  eye  would  kindle,  and  his 
cheek  flush  and  pale  alternately  with  his  impatient  desire 
and  trying  suspense  to  know  whether  what  he  had  heard 
was  really  true,  a  substantial  fact,  that  Charlotte  Howard 
was  free. 

At  any  other  time  the  travel  would  not  have  been  con- 
sidered the  slowest  of  the  slow,  so  eager  was  he  to  find  out 
what  was  to  be  his  fate.  Was  he  ever  to  be  happy  again, 
or  doomed  to  disappointment  ?  It  would  be  hard  to  realize 
his  actual  emotions  and  thoughts  during  that  unexpected 
journey  back  to  the  scenes  and  sad  recollections  of  the 
past  four  years,  or  to  imagine  his  experience  as  the  train  at 
last  stopped,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  familiar  objects  in  the 
fast  deepening  gloom  of  the  autumn  day. 

But  he  w*s  .yet  doomed  to  further  disappointment  and 
suspense.  He  found  his  guardian's  family  sad.  Harry 
had  gone  to  commence  his  theological  course  ;  Arthur  had 
left  the  day  before  for  Charleston  to  begin  his  medical 
education,  and  Mrs.  Howard,  her  sister  and  daughter,  had 
gone  that  morning  to  pay  a  visit  to  old  Mr.  Graham,  in 
Virginia. 

In  conversation  with  Florence  he  learned  all  he  wanted 
to  know — that  Charlotte  Howard's  engagement  with  Wal- 
ter Hayne  was  really  dissolved,  and  the  next  day  he  started 
back  North. 

"  I  wish  you  god-speed,  Louis ;  she  is  a  dear,  sweet  girl, 
worthy  of  the  best  man  that  lives,"  whispered  Florence,  as 
she  bade  him  goodbye ;  but  a  quiver  was  in  the  tone,  and 
her  heart  felt  that  poor  Harry  had  this  time  a  formidable 


258 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


rival  indeed.  Charlotte  Howard  had  not  hid  her  secret  so 
securely  as  she  had  thought. 

A  rich,  mellow  October  day  was  drawing  to  a  close;  the 
god  of  day  was  wheeling  down  the  crimson  and  azure  west, 
and  the  gorgeous  banners  of  purple  and  gold  were  waving 
and  curling  in  majestic  glory  above  his  declining  chariot. 
The  cool  atmosphere  and  delightful  breeze  gracefully  waft- 
ed the  rich  old  curtains  of  the  comfortable  library  of  Gra- 
ham Hall,  bearing  on  its  welcome  breath  the  farewell  per- 
fumes of  the  shrubbery  and  choice  flowers  without,  filling 
the  whole  place  with  a  delicate,  refreshing  perfume,  un- 
noticed and  unappreciated  just  then  by  its  sole  occupant. 

Charlotte  Howard  sat  there  alone,  gazing  out  from  the 
open  window,  her  cheeks  fanned  by  the  scented  air,  but 
she  seemed  nob  to  notice  the  majestic  beauty  without,  so 
buried  was  she  in  deep,  soul-questioning  thought.  She 
looked  very  sad  and  weary,  yet  beautiful,  pure  and  gentle, 
the  glow  without  coloring  her  pale  cheeks  to  a  roseate  hue, 
and  casting  a  rich,  yet  subdued  light  over  her  rather  sombre 
gray  poplin  dress.  So  entirely  was  she  wrapped  up  with  her 
reverie,  dreamy  and  delightful  at  times,  and  again  varying 
into  sadness  and  weariness,  that  she  did  not  hear  the  door 
open  nor  notice  a  light  foot-fall  upon  the  carpet ;  and  un- 
noticed and  unheard  Louis  Montaine  entere^d,*and  stood  a 
few  paces  behind  her  chair.  In  a  low,  thrilling  voice,  al- 
most a  whisper,  he  called  : 

"  Miss  Charlotte  ?  " 

Unconscious  of  all  around,  doubtless  dreaming  of  the 
object  wtiose  voice  broke  in  so  unexpectedly  upon  the 
brooding,  dream-like  silence,  the  girl  started  up,  and  at  the 
sudden  joy  of  beholding  one  whom  she  thought  miles  away 
across  the  mighty  Atlantic,  she  breathed  in  tones  of  tender- 
ness and  pathos : 

"Louis.'' 

But  scarcely  had  the  name  escaped  her  lips,  when  she  re- 
covered her  dreamy  senses,  and  realized  how  far  she  had 
committed  herself.  With  a  burning  blush  deepening  into 
intensity,  and  with  a  painful  confusion,  she  drew  back  and 


A  Bright  Dawn. 


259 


stammered,  "  Please  excuse  me,  you  took  me  so  by  surprise ! 
I  thought  you  were  in  Europe  ?  but  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you,  Mr.  Montaine.  Have  you  seen  any  of  the  family  ?  I 
will  go  and  call  grandpa ;  please  take  a  seat.'' 

Too  generous  to  notice  her  confusion,  yet  thrilling  in 
every  nerve,  Louis  Montaine  with  gentle  courtesy  replied, 
averting  his  eyes  and  crossing  the  floor : 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself,  Miss  Charlotte,  the  servant 
told  me  the  family  was  out,  and  asked  me  to  walk  in  the 
library,  so  you  will  please  excuse  my  seeming  intrusion.  I 
was  not  aware  of  your  presence  until  upon  you.  We  were 
mutually  surprised,  and  I  trust  equally  pleased  to  meet 
again."  With  a  desperate  effort,  the  girl  recovered  her  com- 
posure, and  though  her  eye  drooped  and  the  blush  still 
burned  on  her  cheek,  her  voice  was  calm  and  pleasant  as 
she  replied : 

"Yes,  I  believe  they  are  all  out,  so  in  grandpapa's  name  I 
extend  a  cordial  welcome  to  you  at  the  old  hall.  Please  be 
seated  and  make  yourself  at  home.  You  did  not  go  to 
Europe,  as  intended,  if  I  can  judge  by  your  appearance 
here  in  Dixie." 

"  No,  I  changed  my  mind,"  was  the  rejoinder,  as  with  a 
low,  merry  laugh  he  took  a  seat,  with  a  quick,  searching 
glance  at  the  young  lady  who  had  seated  herself  in  the 
shadow  of  a  corner.  "  I  have  been  revelling  in  lonely 
solitude,  amid  countless  numbers,  amid  American  scenery 
and  nature's  beauteous  gifts,  and  became  so  interested  that 
I  forgot  about  foreign  climes,  or  postponed  my  visit  there 
until  a  more  auspicious  period.  I  was  not  entirely  pre- 
pared to  go  abroad  yet,  as  I  have  several  urgent  claims  to 
detain  me  yet  awhile.  At  present  I  am  as  unstable  as  the 
winds,  with  no  fixed  purpose,  carried  hither  and  thither ; 
and  yet  there  is  a  magnet  attracting  me  to  one  spot.  All 
the  world  seems  a  weary,  dreary  desert  with  but  one  oasis. 
A  halo  of  joy,  peace  and  happiness  lingers  there,  round- 
about it,  and  it  is  for  me  to  find  out  whether  I  can  stop  and 
be  refreshed,  and  strengthened  with  its  entrancing  rest,  or 
driven  out  into  the  cheerless  wilderness  again.    But  per- 


26o 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


haps  you  do  not  understand  me,"  he  continued,  rising  and 
standing  before  the  girl,  his  arms  folded  across  his  back  and 
an  expression  of  suppressed  excitement  over  his  pale  face, 
u  so  I  will  discard  the  figurative  and  put  it  in  plain  style. 
Miss  Charlotte,  near  five  years  ago,  when  a  boy  of  seven- 
teen, I  met  you  on  a  railroad  train  bound  for  this  place, 
and  after  an  acquaintance  of  two  days  we  parted  with  no 
thought  of  ever  meeting  again.  I  returned  to  my  home, 
my  duty,  my  many  and  varied  pleasures,  with  a  lingering 
regret  ever  haunting  me  that  a  bright,  sweet  something 
had  crossed,  then  passed  from,  my  pathway ;  the  vividness 
and  reality  of  the  thing  waning  into  mistiness  as  the  days 
came  and  went,  till  it  seemed  only  like  a  phantom  follow- 
ing me.  Then  upon  my  boyish  vision,  my  hungry,  craving 
heart,  a  creature  of  beauty,  witchery  and  glorious  enchant- 
ment flashed,  fading  every  other  emotion  into  insignifi- 
cance. In  my  inexperience  and  charmed  senses  I  thought  I 
loved,  madly  it  is  true,  but  truly,  deeply,  this  beautiful 
creature,  and  the  future  was  painted  in  gorgeous  tints 
through  her  coloring.  With  a  magic  wand  she  led,  con- 
trolled and  held  me  in  an  abject  idolatry.  To  secure  her  I 
sacrificed  every  other  consideration,  even  casting  aside  a 
most  tender  filial  affection  for  a  dear  parent,  who  hitherto 
had  been  paramount  in  every  thing.  %  • 

u  His  death  following  soon  after,  somewhat  cooled  off  my 
mad,  blind  infatuation ;  but  though  I  knew  he  was  against 
this  marriage  it  did  not  break  in  upon  my  charmed  senses 
deep  enough  to  waken  me  to  my  folly,  and  one  week  after 
he  died  she  was  my  betrothed  wife,  my  mother's  betrothal 
ring  glittered  upon  her  finger. 

"  In  obedience  to  my  father's  wish  I  accompanied  Mr. 

Bentley  to  your  native  town  and  entered  College,  but 

I  had  no  wish  nor  desire  then  to  relinquish  my  prize,  and 
left  Charleston  bound  by  vows  to  be  fulfilled  in  the  future, 
But  I  was  not  happy  ;  God  alone  only  knows  with  what  a 
torn  and  troubled  heart  I  arrived  at  S  .  Miss  Char- 
lotte, when  I  met  you  again  I  had  only  been  engaged  three 
days.    Then  it  was  that  four  years  of  the  most  intense,  the 


A  Bright  Dawn. 


261 


bitterest,  the  darkest  remorse,  regret  and  unhappiness  that 
has  ever  fallen  to  the  lot  of  a  poor  mortal  has  been  endured 
by  me  with  but  a  faint  streak  of  light,  if  ever,  beaming 
across  my  pathway,  for,  Miss  Charlotte,  it  was  not  long 
after  my  separation  from  my  betrothed  that  I  found  I  did 
not  love  her.  Away  from  her  witchery,  I  found  I  had 
only  been  charmed,  and  when  I  discovered  this  mistake, 
and  knew  that  my  heart  was  being  taken  irresistibly  from 
me  by  another,  and  that  this  one  did  not  care  for  me,  did 
not  return  the  deep,  yearning  love  I  felt  for  her,  and  that 
I  was  bound  by  vows  which  my  honor  forbade  me  to  dis- 
regard, then  it  was  I  knew  what  it  was  to  suffer.  You 
must  understand  me,  Miss  Charlotte,  for  as  God  above  is 
my  witness,  I  declare  unto  you  that  I  have  and  still  love 
you  only  !  The  seed  planted  five  years  ago  took  root  firmly 
and  has  steadily  grown  and  waxed  into  strength,  notwith- 
standing every  adverse  wind  and  discouragement,  and  now 
again,  for  the  th'rd  time,  freed  from  galling  iron  chains,  I 
tell  you  that  I  love  you.  I  do  not  come  begging  for  a  love 
in  return  if  it  is  not  mine.  As  I  offer  a  whole,  undivided 
heart,  I  wish  the  same  in  return.  I  do  not  want  your  pity, 
but  your  love." 

Charlotte  Howard  was  very  quiet  and  pale,  but  one  could 
plainly  see  deep,  intense  emotions  stirred  her  whole  being. 
She  had  listened  without  moving  or  lifting  her  eyes,  her 
hands  clasped  firmly  yet  tremulousy. 

"  Mr.  Montaine,"  she  said  in  low,  quivering  tones  she 
vainly  strove  to  make  calm,  "  before  I  answer  you  I  want 
to  ask  if  it  was  in  hopes  of  winning  me  that  you  have 
broken  your  engagement,  rejected  your  cousin,  and  left 
her  to  pine,  perhaps  die  of  a  broken  heart,  for  I  hear  she  is 
but  a  shadow  of  her  former  self,  and  is  slowly  but  surely 
dying?" 

"JN"o,  it  was  not  with  such  hope  or  idea,"  and  the  young 
man  looked  eager  and  excited.  "  I  had  lost  all  hope  of  ever 
being  any  thing  to  you,  for  were  you  not  the  betrothed  wife 
of  another  ?  An  unexpected  but  imperative  circumstance 
occurred   which   released  me    from    that  irksome,  un- 

17 


262 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


happy  engagement.  I  can  never  marry  Irene  Bnrgoyne  ; 
even  if  1  loved  her  I  dare  not  marry  her.  I  have  done 
all  I  can  do  for  my  cousins,  made  them  comfortable  in 
material  matters,  but  henceforth  an  insurmountable  barrier 
divides  us.  It  was  six  weary  weeks  afterwards,  while  I  was 
striving  to  reconcile  myself  to  endure  a  future  existence  of 
miserable  bachelorhood,  that  I  accidentally  learned  that  you 
were  free.  The  slumbering  hope  revived  instantly  ;  the 
old,  never-dying  love  rushed  with  tenfold  ardor,  and  I  de- 
termined to  return  and  try  once  more  for  the  last  time.  So, 
please  make  me  understand  my  fate  and  what  is  your  de- 
cree." 

"  I  loved  you  all  through  those  dark  days  of  doubt  and 
confusion,  but  how  could  I  tell  you  so  when  I  knew  you  to 
be  the  affianced  husband  of  another  ?  I  thought  it  my  duty 
to  try  and  crush  it  from  my  heart,  for  I  felt  certain  you 
would  marry  your  cousin,  and  it  was  this  that  made  me 
accept  Mr.  Hayne.  I  felt  sorry  for  him,  and  intended  to 
try  and  make  him  happy ;  but  realized  how  sinful  I  was, 
and  begged  him  to  release  me.  You  must  not  blame  me, 
Mr.  Montaine.  I  thought  I  was.  right  in  treating  you 
coldly  and  indifferently  under  the  circumstances  ;  in  fact  I 
did  not  know  how  to  act.  All  I  wanted  to  do  was  to  act 
right,  and  made  a  sad  blunder  of  it  after  all." 

M  And  you  loved  me  all  the  time,  and  I  thought  you 
scorned  and  despised  me  ?  Would  that  I  had  known  this, 
how  much  pain  and  bitterness  it  would  have  saved  me ! 
But  you  are  perfectly  justified  in  treating  me  as  you  did  ; 
appearances  were  against  me.  But,  Miss  Charlotte,  is  this 
coveted  love  still  mine,  or  did  you  crush  it  out  in  your 
strivings  ? " 

The  girl  laughed  and  blushed  in  a  delicious  confusion, 
seemingly  shrinking  from  being  vanquished  even  by  so 
desirable  a  conqueror,  and  did  not  immediately  reply. 

"And  you  love  me  now,  Lottie?"  was  the  thrilling 
query — a  glad  light  overspreading  the  handsome  face  bent 
eagerly  forward. 

The  beautiful  eyes,  beaming  and  moist  with  the  rush  of 


A  Bright  Dawn. 


263 


tenderness  and  love  so  long  pent  up,  now  welling  over  with 
liquid  profusion,  she  shyly  lifted  to  his,  which  were  bent 
upon  her  face — the  lips  parted  in  a  smile,  and  her  cheek 
grew  warmer  as  she  replied,  under  her  breath : 
"  You  know  I  do." 

The  peace  and  bliss  of  heaven  seemed  to  descend  upon 
the  young  man's  countenance.  He  held  out  his  hands,  a 
smile  of  inviting  tenderness  wreathing  his  mouth,  lighting 
the  face  into  rare  beauty  and  joy — and  with  a  wild,  flutter- 
ing cry  of  joy,  Charlotte  Howard  sprang  into  his  impas- 
sioned embrace. 

"  God  be  praised  that  this  happiness  is  at  last  mine,  my 
darling,  my  own !"  he  breathed  as  he  strained  her  to  his 
heart. 

But  we  must  not  linger  at  this  moment  of  extreme  joy. 
It  is  too  sacred  for  the  public  eye — too  indescribable  for 
description  through  the  cold  medium  of  the  pen. 


ABROAD. 


^jr  would  be  useless,  and  I  do  not  intend  to  enter  in 
Q \  d;:  account  of  the  days,  weeks  and  mo:: hs  that  Eat 
L"\r  lowed.  Those  who  have  experienced  the  time  interven- 
ing between  the  betrothal  and  marriage,  understand,  and 
those  who  have  not  can  imagine,  as  a  general  thing,  that  it 
is  a  very  happy,  entertaining  and  busy  time.  Sometimes 
the  happiest  portion  of  life  allotted  to  man. 

And  there  was  no  exception  to  the  rule  in  the  case  of  Char- 
lotte Howard  and  her  lover,  indeed  it  was  a  time  of  almost 
perfect  bliss,  if  I  can  use  the  term  for  human  experience. 
The  course  of  their  love,  though  decidedly  true,  ran  very 
smoothly.  Xot  a  cloud  nor  ripple  seemed  to  obscure  or 
disturb  the  peaceful,  joyous  current  of  their  life. 

Charlotte  seemed  her  old  self  again.  The  brightness* 
vivacity  and  joyousness  of  her  nature,  though  modified 
into  refinement  and  extreme  gentleness,  shone  forth  with 
resplendent  glory,  making  her  indeed  beautiful  and  charm- 
ing. 

She  seemed  as  happy  and  as  buoyant  as  when  a  free,  care- 
less child,  all  the  past  years  of  pain  and  trial  seemingly 
forgotten,  fading  from  her  memory  as  from  her  life. 

'•Perfee:  love  caste  th  out  fear."  was  truly  verified  in  this 
instance.  Her  love  for  her  fond,  devoted  and  handsome 
lover  was  true  and  loyal.  There  was  ::o  more  talk  nor 
thought  now  of  remaining  at  home  with  mamma,  as  an  old 
maid.  Ah  !  no.  how  eager,  how  willing  to  leave  all.  home, 
mother  and  friends,  and  entrust  herself  to  his  care  without 
a  fear  or  hesitation,  even  when  she  knew  thousands  of  miles 
would  separate  her  from  loved  ones,  and  all  the  sweet  asso- 
ciations of  childhood  and  girlhood  !  '  Your  people  shall  be 
my  people  :  your  God  my  God.5'    He  was  her  world,  her 


Abroad. 


265 


sun,  her  all  !  Ah,  the  faith  and  love  of  woman  is  sublime, 
and  what  a  pity  it  is  so  often  cast  aside  like  prairie  roses, 
that  creep  and  fling  their  richest  bloom  upon  the  earth ! 

The  winter  rapidly  sped  away  and  the  first  breath  of 
spring  found  the  extensive  preparations  for  the  coming 
nuptials  nearly  completed.  They  were  to  be  married  in 
April  and  start  immediately  for  Europe,  where  they  con- 
templated making  an  extensive  tour. " 

Several  times  during  the  winter  Louis  Montaine  had 
visited  Charlotte,  arranging  his  affairs,  and  Charlotte  had 
seamstresses  and  a  fashionable  modiste  from  New  York, 
busily  engaged  preparing  a  handsome  and  rich  trousseau. 

"  No  news  of  Lila  yet,  Louis  ? "  inquired  Charlotte,  after 
his  third  and  last  visit  to  Charleston. 

"  No,  dearest ;  I  can  hear  nothing  of  the  runaway's 
whereabouts,"  was  the  reply,  a  worried  look  flitting  over 
the  handsome  face.  "  I  have  tried  my  very  best  to  trace 
her  out ;  not  so  particularly  for  her  sake,  but  on  your  ac- 
count. I  want  so  much  to  lift  the  care  from  your  heart, 
so  I  can  know  you  are  happy ;  but  do  not  despair,  we  may 
come  across  her  in  some  of  our  travels.  And,  darling,  I 
have  a  pleasant  item  of  news  for  you.  Gerald  Hastings  is 
to  be  married,  and  will  accompany  us  on  their  bridal  tour, 
and  I  trust  you  will  like  his  bride,  for  it  wil  make  it  much 
pleasanter  for  you  to  have  a  lady  companion,  for  you  will 
get  tired  of  me  sometimes,  and  will  like  to  have  a  sympa- 
thizing ear  with  which  to  discuss  the  latest  fashions  and 
gossip  of  the  day." 

A  nd  so  the  mystery  which  enveloped  the  fate  of  the  un- 
fortunate Lila  was  left,  if  not  entirely  forgotten,  in  the 
more  happy  anticipations  and  engrossing  preparations  of 
the  next  few  weeks  which  sped  away  on  blithesome,  joyous 
wings. 

Charlotte  Howard  flitted  about  like  some  stray  sunbeam, 
a  6ong  ever  on  her  smiling  lips,  joy  in  her  heart,  and  love 
beaming  from  her  soft,  beautiful  eyes.  In  her  coming 
happiness  she  grew  strangely  forgetful  of  others,  seem- 
ing not  to  think  of  the  blank  it  would  be  to  those  left 
behind. 


266 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


At  the  appointed  time  they  were  married,  and  after  the 
sumptuous  wedding  breakfast,  amid  the  adieux  and  well 
wishes  of  friends,  well  nigh  exhausted  from  the  embracing 
of  relatives,  her  cheeks  wet  with  a  fond  mother's  tears  of 
farewell,  the  newly  wedded  pair  were  driven  off  to  catch 
the  train. 

Three  days  later  the  following  dispatch  was  received  by 
Mrs.  Howard  from  her  son-in-law : 


"We  arrived  safely  and  well  at  six  o'clock,  a.m.,  in  New  York,  they 
tell  me,  but  I  feel  it  is  Paradise.    We  are  delightfully  accommodated  at 

 hotel,  where  we  will  remain  a  few  days  for  rest.    Mrs.  Montaine 

will  write  more  definitely.  I  will  try  to  spare  a  little  love  for  all,  but 
fear  it  will  be  a  very  little.    Affectionately,  Louis. 

In  due  time  the  newly  married  couple,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hastings  arrived,  and  were  warmly,  courteously  welcomed 
by  Louis  and  Charlotte.  Mrs.  Hastings  was  a  tall,  stylish 
girl,  with  well  cut  features,  black,  passionate  eyes,  and 
raven-hued  hair.  She  was  haughty  and  reserved  in  man- 
ners, but  highly  cultured  and  refined ;  a  courteous,  high- 
bred lady;  the  only  daughter  of  wealthy,  purse-proud  parents, 
she  bore  herself  with  considerable  consequence.  Esteeming 
Charlotte  her  equal,  if  not  superior,  she  became  very  gra- 
cious and  lovingly  polite,  and  the  two  very  soon  became 
fast  friends,  and  started  off  on  their  European  tour  on  the 
best  of  terms — gay,  pleasant  and  pleasing — to  explore  the 
beauties  and  wonders  of  foreign  lands.  Charlotte,  with 
heart  and  soul  absorbed,  determined  to  enjoy  and  appre- 
ciate the  delightful  privilege  which  was  hers,  to  perfect 
herself  in  languages  over  which  she  had  studiously  labored 
to  become  thoroughly  conversant,  informed  and  polished, 
to  make  herself  in  every  way  an  accomplished,  intelligent 
and  high-bred  lady,  so  that  she  could  grace,  embellish,  and 
creditably  fill  her  position  as  mistress  over  her  husband's 
proud  ancestral  home,  and  do  its  honors  without  a  failure. 
The  other  only  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  fashion.  Which 
would  enjoy  themselves  the  most  can  easily  be  imagined. 

I  do  not  intend  to  go  with  them  on  their  extended  ex» 
plorations,  but  on  a  delightful  evening  of  the  autumn 


Abroad. 


267 


following  their  start  we  find  the  four  tourists,  tired  from  a 
day's  rambles,  seated  out  on  the  stone  verandah  of  a  hotel, 
at  Yenice,  Italy,  chatting  and  laughing  gaily,  and  watching 
with  evident  interest  the  gaily  dressed,  and  happy-go-lucky 
inhabitants  traversing  the  watery  streets  below,  in  their 
swift,  graceful  gondolas.  They  had  been  there  two  days, 
enjoying  to  the  fullest  extent  this,  to  them,  novel  way  of 
living.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hastings  intended  leaving  the  next 
day,  direct  for  home,  but  Louis  and  Charlotte,  after  a  few 
days'  longer  stay,  contemplated  visiting  Genoa  and  Flor- 
ence, where  they  intended  wintering,  and  start  the  follow- 
ing spring  on  a  more  extended  travel. 

"  This  scene  is  really  lovely,"  exclaimed  Charlotte  after 
a  slight  pause  in  the  conversation.  "  How  much  prettier 
than  seeing  people  walk  the  dusty  streets.  Look  how  the 
water  sparkles — just  like  jewels." 

"  It  looks  pretty  enough,"  observed  Mr.  Hastings,  "  but 
I  prefer  solid  ground.    It  looks  dangerous.'' 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  like  it,"  said  Mrs.  Hastings,  with  an  in- 
voluntary shudder.  "  I  would  suppose  drowning  to  be  of 
frequent  occurrence."  ^ 

"  O  no.  I  presume  they  a*e  cautious,"  rejoined  Louis, 
putting  his  arm  about  his  wife  and  drawing  her  to  him. 
"  Do  not  lean  over  there,  darling,  you  might  get  giddy." 

"It  makes  you  feel  as  though  you  were  on  shipboard.  I 
imagined  just  now  I  felt  the  motion  of  the  water,"  and 
drawing  back  she  nestled  in  her  husband's  arms. 

"  I  wonder  who  she  is  ? "  queried  Mrs.  Hastings,  after  a 
while,  interrupting  an  animated  conversation  going  on, 
motioning  as  she  spoke  toward  the  tall  form  of  a  woman  in 
long,  black,  trailing  robes,  who  stood  a  little  apart  intently 
looking  down  on  the  waters  beneath — standing  there  alone, 
quiet  and  still. 

x  Gerald  Hastings  shrugged  his  shoulders  mysteriously. 
Louis  and  Charlotte  glanced  toward  the  dark  object  and 
shook  their  heads. 

"  She  was  out  here  last  evening,  too,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Hastings.  "  I  wonder  who  she  is  ?  It  seems  to  me  that 
she  is  dogging  us." 


268 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


u  You  are  nervous,  my  pet.    Do  you  want  to  go  in  ?" 

"  O  no,  not  yet ;  it  is  too  pleasant  to  go  in.  But  I  do 
wish  that  nun-like  object  would  move  away." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  conversation  again  flowed 
on  pleasantly. 

About  fifteen  minutes  or  so  afterwards  the  sombre,  dis- 
turbing object  moved  from  her  silent  post,  walking  back 
and  forth  several  times  rapidly,  then  made  a  full  halt  in 
front  of  Gerald  Hastings,  stood  there  a  moment,  then  dis- 
appeared within  a  door  near  by. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  that  woman,  Gerald  ? "  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Hastings  in  a  whisper,  a  sudden  awe  instinc- 
tively falling  over  the  others.  Even  in  the  uncertain  light 
it  could  be  seen  that  Gerald  Hastings  turned  ghastly  white. 
He  tried  to  laugh,  but  it  sounded  hoarse  and  unnatural. 
Charlotte  and  Louis  looked  on  askance,  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion on  the  former's  face. 

"Somehow  I  feel  there  was  something  familiar  about 
this  woman.  I  wish  I  had  seen  her  face,"  observed  Char- 
lotte reflectively. 

"  I  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  it,''  replied  Mrs.  Hastings. 
"  It  was  lividly  pale,  with  ^*eat  blazing  eyes.  Oh  !  I  de- 
clare she  is  mad  !    Let  us  go  in,  Gerrie  ? " 

"  All  right ,  I  am  tired  anyhow,"  and  he  arose.  "  Louis 
and  Mrs.  Montaine  will  excuse  us,  as  we  leave  early  in  the 
morning  and  need  a  good  night's  rest." 

"  Certainly,  you  are  very  excusable  ;  but  do  not  leave  in 
the  morning  without  seeing  us.  We  will  stay  out  here  a 
little  longer." 

"  We  will  see ;  but  fearing  we  may  not,  I  will  bid  you 
goodbye  now,"  and  leaning  over,  Mrs.  Hastings  kissed  Char- 
lotte. "  Good  night,  Mr.  Montaine,"  an(J  with  a  smile  on 
her  lips  and  pleasant  good  humor  on  her  face  she  stood  an 
instant,  and  with  a  laugh  was  about  to  turn  away  with 
some  laughing  remark,  when  suddenly,  like  a  flash,  para- 
lizing  all  around  into  inaction,  the  black-robed  figure  glided 
swiftly,  unseen,  until  upon  them,  and  with  superhuman 
strength  seized  upon  Claudia  Hastings  and  threw  her  into 


Abroad. 


269 


the  rippling  water  beneath.  Then  with  a  loud,  wild  laugh, 
she  shook  her  clenched  hand  into  the  face  of  the  stupidly 
horrified  Gerald  Hastings  and  screamed  : 

"  Man  !  incarnate  fiend  !  do  you  know  me?  This  is  my 
revenge !  May  the  blood  of  your  two  wives  rest  upon  your 
head  and  destroy  your  soul !  " 

Before  the  witnesses  of  this  terrible  tragedy  could  recov- 
er themselves,  the  wretched  woman  sprang  over  into  the 
water  below. 

A  frantic  shriek  had  rent  the  air  as  Mrs.  Hastings  went 
head-long  down  and  fell  with  a  crash  and  splashing  into  the 
water,  and  with  it  still  vibrating  on  the  air,  her  murderess, 
with  the  curse  just  issuing  from  her  lips,  followed,  and 
again  disturbed  the  troubled,  glistening  surface  of  the 
water  which  opened  to  receive  her. 

Gerald  Hastings,  with  a  deep  groan,  fell  prone  upon  the 
fioor  in  a  deadly  swoon.    Charlotte  clung  with  convulsive, 
terrified  horror  to  her  husband,  who  seemed  for  the  awful 
moment  to  be  paralized,  so  sudden  had  been  the  calamity. 
Yain  would  it  be  to  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  of  con- 
fusion and  dismay  that  followed.    Crowds  of  terrified 
people  gathered  around,  the  falhting  man  was  borne  in  and 
placed  upon  his  couch,  a  physician  was  summoned,  and  Char- 
lotte left  by  him,  her  face  expressive  of  the  keenest  sym- 
pathy and  solicitude.    Louis,  recovering  himself,  had  gone 
below  hoping  the  wretched  woman  and  her  innocent  victim 
had  been  rescued.    As  he  had  anticipated,  ready  hands  and 
strenuous  efforts  had  been  made,  and  the  insensible  forms 
of  the  two  women  had  been  recovered  and  were  being  at- 
tended by  tender  hands,  and  a  skillful  physician  was  doing 
his  utmost  to  restore  animation.    But,  alas!  his  efforts 
were  futile.    In#her  fall,  Mrs.  Hastings  had  struck  her 
head  on  a  projecting  column,  and  falling  into  the  water  in- 
sensible, had  sank  without  any  effort  to  save  herself.  When 
her  body  was  recovered  life  was  nearly  extinct,  and  a  very 
few  minutes  after,  with  a  fluttering  sigh,  she  breathed  her 
last.    Unconscious,  but  alive,  the  murderess  was  conveyed 
to  a  room  under  surveillance,  and  Louis  gave  orders  to  have 


2JO 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


the  corpse  removed  to  his  wife's  private  parlor,  and  with 
the  aid  of  her  maid  and  a  few  sympathizing  ladies,  the 
bride  of  a  few  brief,  happy  months,  was  laid  out  in  her 
final,  last  sleep. 

Louis  broke  the  sad,  overwhelming  news  as  gently  as 
possible  to  the  grief-stricken,  bereaved  young  husband,  who 
white  with  a  guilty  agony  and  quivering  form,  stood  and 
looked  with  unutterable  anguish  and  keen  remorse  on  the 
still,  stony  face  of  the  bright,  beautiful  and  happy  girl  he 
had  taken  from  her  home  and  parents  but  a  few  months 
before. 

n  Great  God ! "  he  moaned,  a  wild  wave  of  anguish  sub- 
merging his  soul,  "  what  will  I  tell  her  mother,  her 
father !  How  dare  I  go  back  and  tell  them  their  child  is 
dead,  dead;  and  that  I,  her  husband,  who  vowed  to  pro- 
tect and  cherish  her,  stood  by  without  lifting  a  finger  to 
save,  and  see  her  murdered  before  my  very  eyes?  Oh! 
Claudie,  Claudie,  my  wife,  I  wanted  to  save  you  !  I  wanted 
to  carry  you  back  safe.  An  unseen  hand  warned  me  back. 
An  instinctive  fear  haunted  me.  I  felt  danger  was  in 
Italy,  but  you  laughed  at  my  foolish  fears.  You  would  go  ; 
for  what?  To  be  murdered/  My  wife  is  murdered,  and 
her  blood  rests  upon  my  head  !  Great  God !  I  cannot  tell 
them  she  is  dead!  Claudie,  Claudie,  you  are  not  dead! 
Speak  to  me !  Tell  your  miserable,  wretched  husband  that 
you  are  not  dead  !" 

Moaning  and  raving,  resisting  every  effort  made  to  in- 
duce him  to  leave  the  room  and  take  some  rest,  unheeding 
sympathizing  words  and  expostulations,  the  guilty,  grief- 
stricken  husband  hovered  about  the  corpse  of  his  wife  the 
whole  night,  the  first  faint  rays  of  the  morning  making 
him  break  forth  in  wilder,  deeper  grief:  ,"1  was  to  carry 
her  home  this  morning,  and  now  she  is  dead ;  gone,  gone!" 

"  Ah,  gone  to  a  better  home  than  to  what  you  could  carry 
her,"  suggested  a  watcher.  But  there  was  no  balm,  no  ease 
for  the  wretched,  guilty  mourner.  A  guilty  conscience, 
added  to  his  keen  pangs  of  grief,  and  miserable  fears  of 
meeting  her  parents  stung  too  deeply  for  words  to  alleviate. 


* 


Abroad. 


271 


En  another  room  in  the  same  hotel,  another  scene  was 
being  enacted.  Another  guilty,  wretched,  unhappy  crea- 
ture passed  the  night.  A  wrecked,  sinful,  but  ah,  greater 
sinned  against,  life  was  fast  ebbing  out  its  last  tide  of 
mortal  existence.  With  clasped  hands,  her  sweet  face 
pallid  with  the  fearful  remembrance  of  the  sad  event  just 
happened,  dry,  tearless  eyes,  looking  upon  the  quiet, 
peaceful  form  which  lay  before  her  in  the  solemn,  fearful 
stillness  of  death,  a  mute  inquiry  in  her  heart  if  she  had 
been  prepared  to  meet  her  God,  so  suddenly  sent  into  his 
presence,  Charlotte,  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  stood  in 
awed  silence,  her  warm  heart  gushing  with  tender  sympa- 
thy for  the  stricken  husband,  and  sad,  regretful  emotions 
stirring  the  depths  of  her  soul,  for  she  had  learned  to  love 
the  young  wife  who  had  been  her  companion  in  so  many 
pleasant,  delightful  hours  of  intercourse  amid  the  beauties 
of  foreign  lands  and  ancient  lore,  and  she  had  looked  for- 
ward to  the  future  when  she  should  return  to  her  native 
land,  and  begin  life  in  her  husband's  native  city,  a  stranger 
there,  she  would  meet  and  resume  their  friendship. 

Absorbed  with  these  sad  reflections  and  regrets,  she 
started  as  a  servant  approached  and  touched  her  arm,  say- 
ing in  Italian  that  the  lady  who  had  fallen  over  into  the 
water  was  not  dead,  and  had  sent  to  request  her  to  come  to 
her  a  few  mmutes,  as  she  had  not  long  to  live,  and  wished 
to  communicate  something  of  importance. 

Charlotte  nodded  assent,  and  in  a  low  tone  made  her 
husbaad  understand  the  girl's  errand,  adding,  "Can  I  go  V9 

"Not  alone,"  was  answered,  and  drawing  her  hand  within 
his  arm  the  two  left  the  room  and,  preceded  by  the  girl, 
were  led  up  a  long  corridor,  at  the  end  of  which  a  door 
stood  ajar. 

"She  wants  you  alone,"  said  the  native,  looking  at  the 
gentleman  who  was  also  about  to  enter. 

"He  is  my  husband,"  explained  Charlotte,  "and  I  do  not 
care  to  go  in  alone." 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  opened  the  door, 
and  as  the  husband  and  wife  entered  closed  it  behind  them, 


272 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


thus  leaving  them  in  the  presence  of  the  murderess  and 
dying  woman.  It  was  a  small,  meanly  furnished  apartment, 
with  unmistakable  signs  of  poverty  and  neglect  about  it. 
Upon  the  low,  uncurtained  couch  lay  the  woman,  her  long, 
thin,  transparent  hands  clasped  together  upon  her  breast ; 
her  luxuriant,  fair  hair  lying  tangled  and  still  damp  from 
her  deluge  in  the  water  upon  her  pillow  ;  her  face  pallid, 
even  unto  the  hue  of  death ;  her  white  forehead,  so  trans- 
parent that  the  blue  veins  stood  out  visibly,  was  damp  with 
the  perspiration  of  death ;  her  eyes,  large  and  wild,  were 
glazed,  and  it  was  apparent  that  her  life  was  fast  ebbing 
out,  that  her  allotted  days  were  numbered. 

Timidly,  with  an  instinctive  horror  creeping  over  her, 
Charlotte  approached  the  dying  woman,  her  husband  stand- 
ing at  the  head  of  the  couch  out  of  sight,  yet  near  his  wife. 

"You  sent  for  me,"  said  Charlotte  in  Italian,  leaning 
forward.    "Do  you  wish  to  tell  me  something  ?" 

The  woman  turned  her  large  eyes  with  an  eager,  ques- 
tioning and  yearning  look  upon  the  girl,  and  said  in 
English : 

"I  do  not  understand  Italian.  Let  me  hear  my  native 
tongue  and  your  sweet,  kind  voice  again.  No  one  ever 
spoke  to  me  with  such  kindness  and  true  love  after  I  left 
you,  Lottie.  Oh  !  Lottie,  tell  me  you  love  and  forgive  me, 
for  I  am  nearly  gone  ;  my  life's  miseries  are*  nearly  ended, 
only  to  begin  in  a  new,  terrible  state  of  eternal  torment. 
Lottie,  Lottie,  do  you  not  know  me?" 

All  fear,  every  other  feeling,  was  gone,  and  with  a  cry 
of  joy,  reproach  and  pity  mingled,  Charlotte  sprang  for- 
ward, and  taking  the  cold  hands  in  her  warm,  loving  clasp, 
she  kissed  the  pallid  lips  and  cried : 

"Lila,  Lila,  have  I  found  you  at  last  ?  My  sister,  my 
poor,  dear  Lila  !" 

With  a  sudden  start  and  deep  pallor  Louis  sprang  for- 
ward, but  restraining  himself,  drew  back  and  remained  a 
silent  listener  to  what  followed. 

"  Oh,  Lottie !  do  not  kiss  me !  do  not  call  me  sister !" 
said  the  feeble  tones  of  the  dying  girl.    "  I  am  a  stained, 


Abroad. 


273 


sinful  reptile;  a  wretched  creature  not  n't  enough  for  per- 
dition, but  oh,  Lottie !  I  saw  you  this  evening,  and  your 
husband,  and  could  not  die  without  seeing  you  once  more 
and  begging  you  to  forgive  me  !  Oh !  that  I  had  never 
left  the  safety  and  protection  of  your  home !  turned  away 
from  your  true,  sisterly  love.  But  it  was  aunt  Lucy  and 
Arthur's  fault,  they  wanted  me  to  marry  an  old  man  I 
hated, ;  they  drove  me  from  the  only  home  I  knew,  out  on 
the  cold,  cruel  world  that  has  driven  me  to  perdition.  Oh, 
Lottie !  no  one  can  know  what  I  have  suffered  ;  no  one  can 
imagine  what  I  have  endured.  I  have  drank  the  dregs  of 
the  cup  of  woe  and  now,  to  complete  it,  will  die  a  murder- 
ess— a  suicide !  But  oh,  Lottie  !  do  not  blame  me,  you 
do  not  know  how  I  was  goaded,  driven  to  it !  I  am  damned,, 
but  God  is  a  liar,  unjust,  unmerciful,  if  He  does  not  damn 
others  for  what  they  have  done  for  me.  I  am  a  sinful 
wretch,  an  outcast  from  earth  and  Heaven,  but  with  my 
dying  breath  I  swear  I  have  been  sinned  against  more  than 
I  ever  wilfully  sinned  !" 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know  that,"  said  the  soothing,  tender  voice 
of  Charlotte,  smoothing  back  the  damp  hair,  "  but  do  not 
think  of  all  your  injuries  and  excite  yourself  so  much ;  do 
not  abuse  yourself,  poor  child,  and  say  such  harsh  things. 
We  are  all  sinners,  but  don't  you  know  Christ  Jesus  died  to 
atone  for  our  sins  ?  '  Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet  I  will 
make  them  whiter  than  snow'  He  said.  No  matter  what 
you  have  done  only  "throw  yourself  on  His  mercy  in  peni- 
tence and  sincerity,  and  He  will  pardon  all  and  receive  you 
into  one  of  His  many  mansions.  No  one  is  cast  from 
Heaven,  Lila,  if  they  desire  to  obtain  that  eternal  happiness 
and  implore  Christ  to  forgive  and  wash  away  their  sins. 
You  have  sinned,  Lila,  so  have  we  all,  but  you  do  not  re- 
joice in  them.  You  are  sorry  ;  they  burden  your  soul  and 
your  heart's  cry  is  for  mercy.  God  is  love,  and  He  pities 
and  loves  you,  Lila$  even  if  you  have  strayed  away.  He  is 
ready,  waiting  to  receive  you  as  one  of  those  washed  in  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb.  Christ  is  waiting  with  outstretched 
arms,  and  will  you  not  ask  Him  to  receive  you  to  Him- 
self ?" 


274  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

The  dying  girl  shook  her  head  mournfully  and  muttered, 
"  There  is  no  hope  for  me  !" 

"  Yes  there  is,  Lila,  to  the  vilest  sinner  there  is  hope. 
Christ  condemns  none  if  they  will  only  go  to  Him  for  par- 
don. He  has  the  power  and  is  willing,  eager  to  save — to 
cleanse  us  from  all  unrighteousness.  Forgive  those  who 
have  done  you  wrong  and  then  ask  God,  through  the  merits 
of  His  son,  to  forgive  you  all." 

"  Ah !  there  it  is !"  and  the  voice  grew  strong  and  wild, 
"  I  must  forgive  if  I  wish  forgiveness  ;  but  I  can  not,  will 
not  forgive.  You  do  not  know  how  I  have  been  wronged, 
scorned,  deceived,  goaded  unto  desperation.  Lottie,  if  my 
sins  are  mountain  high  my  injuries  reach  to  the  skies.  From 
my  very  birth  I  have  been  wronged,  deceived,  cheated,  and 
you  are  the  only  one  that  ever  loved  or  cared  for  me.  Masie 
was  good  and  gentle  but  she  thought  it  her  duty  to  love  all ; 
but  you,  Lottie,  really  loved  and  cared  for  me.  But  oh  !  I 
was  so  proud  I  would  not  heed  your  precious  letters  and 
come  back.  But  oh  !  how  often  have  I  wished  I  had  ;  I 
would  not  have  been  the  wretch  that  I  am  now  !  Though 
you  know  me  to  be  a  murderess  you  look  at  me  kindly,  you 
kiss  me,  and  do  not  shrink  back  from  contact  with  one  so 
vile,  such  a  wretched,  criminal  creature.'' 

"  Lila,  Lila,  my  sister  !  do  not  exeite  yourself  so.  If  you, 
think  I  love  and  pity  you,  and  feel  there  is  no  contamina- 
tion to  kiss  and  love  you,  I  who  am  mortal  and  sinful,  how 
much  more  so  is  the  gentle,  loving  Jesus  who  knows  all 
your  trials,  has  felt  temptation's  power,  and  as  a  dear,  elder 
Brother,  pities  and  yearns  over  you  ?  Lila,  pour  your 
wrongs,  your  sins,  into  His  sympathizing  ear  and  He  will 
save,  pardon  and  receive  you." 

„Yes,  if  I  pardon;  but  I  can  not,  even  if  I  am  sent  to 
Hell !  Lottie,  like  the  crowd  of  others  around,  doubtless 
you  think  I  was  very  cruel  and  inhuman  to  snatch  from 
her  husband's  arms  an  innocent  woman  who  wronged  me, 
but  unconsciously,  and  for  me  to  take  vengeance  into  my 
own  hands.  If  God  would  do  it,  why  did  he  wait  so  long, 
until  I  was  maddened  past  all  endurance  ?    You  did  not 


Abroad. 


27.5 


know  it,  but  since  you  left  Paris  I  have  clogged  your  foot- 
steps day  and  night,  watching  my  chance  to  avenge  my 
bitter  wrongs.  It  looks  cruel  and  heartless  to  murder  an 
innocent  girl,  a  happy  wife ;  but  it  was  the  only  way  I 
knew  how  to  punish  him,  to  make  him  feel  a  taste  of  the 
woe  he  laid  upon  me  to  endure ;  but  I  am  not  satisfied  yet; 
you  look  upon  Gerald  Hastings  as  a  gentleman  ;  you  give 
him  your  friendship  ;  but  he  is  a  coward,  a  deceiver,  a  liar, 
and  disgraces  the  name  of  man.  Lottie,  I  am  weak,  failing 
fast ;  but  before  I  go  let  me  tell  you  all,  and  perhaps  it 
may  justify  me  somewhat  in  your  eyes  :"  I  was  an  innocent, 
pure  girl,  having  fled  from  the  city  to  protect  myself  from 
the  evil  that  ever  menaced  me  there,  and  in  the  quiet 
home  of  honest  people  I  was  virtuously  and  honestly  earn- 
ing my  daily  bread.  It  was  on  his  father's  plantation,  in 
the  home  of  his  father's  overseer.  One  day  he  came  there 
from  the  city ;  we  met,  and  within  one  week  I  had  passed 
from  earth  to  the  abode  of  Elysium.  I  loved  this  man 
madly,  wildly,  but,  ah  !  truly,  faithfully ;  and  he  made  me 
believe  my  love  was  returned  as  truly  and  ardently.  As  fate 
would  have  it,  his  mother  prevailed  upon  me  to  undertake 
the  tuition  of  her  little  girls  for  a  few  months.  You  will 
remender  I  gave  Mr.  Bentley  and  your  husband's  name  as 
my  reference,  and  was  employed  to  my  satisfaction  by  his 

mother.  We  met  often ;  he  was  at  College  in  C  ,  and  came 

over  to  the  plantation  every  Saturday.  It  was  not  long 
before  he  declared  his  love  and  in  secret  we  were  betrothed, 
he  making  me  promise  to  keep  it  a  profound  secret  until 
he  left  College,  when,  in  spite  of  every  obstacle,  he  vowed 
to  make  me  his  honored  wife.  Fool  that  I  was,  I  believed 
it  all,  and  oh  !  Lottie,  how  I  loved  him,  madly,  adoringly 
loved  him,  God  and  him  only  know !  Whenever  home,  he 
managed,  unknown  to  his  proud  family,  to  have  a  secret 
meeting,  and  often  after  midnight,  when  all  around  was 
wrapped  in  the  first  sound  hours  of  sleep,  I  would  steal  out 
to  meet  him.  With  his  arms  around  me,  his  unholy  kisses 
upon  my  lips,  his  warm  breath  fanning  my  cheek  as  he 
whispered  reiterated  protestations  of  love  and  fidelity  to 


2-6  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

me.  I  was  beguiled  nn wittingly  to  my  rain.    I  trusted  him 
implicitly  and  was  completely  in  his  power,  at  his  mercy, 
and  he  did  not  hesi: ate  to  impose  upon  my  child-like,  trust- 
ing faith.    Those  blissful  days  did  not  last  long  ;  that  was 
in  the  winter  and  spring,  and  the  summer  found  his  family 
on  their  way  abroad,  and  I  was  left  with  my  humble  friends 
again,  but  I  was  better  satisfied.    The  overseer's  family 
was  to  return  to  the  city,  and  I  felt  happy  to  know  I  would 
be  nearer  him.  that  I  could  see  him  every  night  without 
the  miserable  fear  of  being  found  out  by  his  people,  for 
he  was  left  behind  at  College.    A  week  or  so  later  I  was 
once  more  in  the  city.    I  felt  hungry,  eager  to  see  my 
lover,  for  I  had  not  laid  eyes  on  or  heard  from  him  for 
two  whole  weeks.    I  wrote,  telling  him  of  my  arrival  and 
where  I  was.  feeling  sure  he  would  come  to  me  that  night, 
but  in  vain  I  waited.    The  next  day  I  wrote  again,  and 
that  night  waited  and  watched  for  his  coming,  but  still  I 
heard  nothing  from  him,  nor  did  he  come  near  me.  Stnng 
and  mortified  at  this  unexpected  neglect.  I  waited,  wonder- 
ing and  chafing,  but  was  too  proud  to  write  again,  and  thus 
day  after  day  went  by  and  still  I  heard  nothing  from  hini, 
and  nothing  of  him  than  that  he  had  been  seen  on  the  Col- 
lege campus  by  one  of  my  little  pupils,  and  so  1  knew  he 
was  in  the  city.    ^Vhile  in  this  distress,  knowing  not  what 
to  do  or  how  to  act.  I  discovered  that  I  had  been  betrayed. 
In  my  dismay  and  horror,  my  first  impulse  was  to  throw 
myself  overboard  and  end  my  life  before  my  shame  was 
known :  the  next,  and  which  I  acted  upon,  was  to  go  to 
him  and  implore  him  to  save  me  by  making  me  his  lawful 
wife.    All   that   day   and  the  two  next  I  walked  the 
streets    trying    to    meet    him    alone,    and    did  not 
succeed    until     the     afternoon     of     the    third  day, 
when   I  saw   him   part   from  some  young  men,  and 
cross   the  street   alone.     I   walked    up   very  rapidly, 
and  just  as  he  was  about  to  turn  a  corner  I  was  upon  him, 
and  called  "Gerry."    He  turned  quickly,  saw  and  recog- 
nized me.    In  the  evening  dusk  I  saw  him  turn  pale ;  but 
he  laughed  and  said:  "Well,  darling,  what  do  you  want? 


Abroad. 


277 


It  does  not  suit  for  me  to  stop  here  now,  it  is  too  public. 
I  will  see  you  after  a  while.  Walk  down  that  street  slow, 
I  will  overtake  you/' 

He  turned  away  abruptly,  and  I  did  as  he  had  said. 
Walking  very  slowly  down  the  designated  street,  I  had 
gone  quite  a  long  distance  and  felt  nervous  and  frightened 
to  be  out  so  late  alone,  for  it  was  now  after  dark,  and  this 
street  seemed  to  be  very  dimlj  lighted,  so  I  turned  back 
and  soon  was  met  by  Gerry  Hastings.  I  care  not  to  dwell 
on  the  interview  that  followed.  He  tried  to  make  me 
understand  that  he  could  not  marry  me,  although  he  loved 
me  passionately ;  but  that  he  would  let  me  live  in  luxurious 
ease  if  I  would  become  his  mistress,  and  he  vowed  he 
would  marry  and  proclaim  me  his  lawful  wife  when  he  was 
of  age  and  his  own  master.  But  in  vain  he  explained, 
pleaded  and  promised.  I  resisted  all  his  entreaties  and 
expostulations,  and  vowed  if  he  did  not  marry  me  now  and 
save  me  from  shame,  right  the  wrong  he  had  done,  that  I 
would  denounce  him  publicly — that  I  would  go  to  his 
father  and  tell  him  all.  "  Make  me  your  wife,  and  I  will 
willingly  hide  myself  from  every  living  soul."  No  one 
should  ever  know  it  until  he  was  ready  to  proclaim  it  him- 
self. He  saw  I  was  deadly  in  earnest,  that  he  could  not 
make  me  do  wrong,  and  was  afraid  of  my  threat,  and  with 
the  vilest  villainy  still  further  deceived  and  made  me  a 
willing  victim  of  his  deceit. 

"  If  I  marry  you,  will  you  swear  to  keep  indoors,  and 
never  reveal  it  until  I  say  you  can  ? "  he  asked  presently. 

"Yes,  I  will  swear  before  God  never  to  reveal  it  to  a 
human  being  until  you  say  I  can,  and  I  will  hide  myself 
from  every  one.  !No  one  shall  ever  see  me  or  know  that 
I  am  your  wife  from  my  lips.  Make  me  your  lawful  wife 
— I  want  or  ask  nothing  more." 

"  Come,  then,  we  will  see  about  it  at  once.  But  Lila,  at 
your  peril,  let  this  ever  be  known  and  I  will  he  disinherited, 
disowned.  Kemember,  be  faithful  to  me  and  I  will  be 
true  to  you." 

"  I  can  not  walk  with  you,"  he  said,  "for  fear  of  meeting 

18 


278 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


some  acquaintance,  and  then  there  will  be  some  great  scan- 
dal. Draw  your  veil  over  jour  face  and  follow  me  at  a 
little  distance  behind." 

He  started  off  and  I  did  as  requested,  following  him 
from  one  street  to  another,  streets  I  knew  nothing  of,  but 
could  see  he  was  taking  me  into  an  unfrequented  and 
lonely  portion  of  the  city,  for  some  of  the  streets  were 
not  even  lit,  and  we  met  very  few  persons  in  an  hour's 
steady,  rapid  walk.  At  last  he  halted,  and  when  I  came 
up  he  laughed  and  said,  drawing  my  arm  within  his :  "  My 
little  darling  must  be  tired,  lean  on  me  now,  we  are  most 
there,  and  then  you  will  have  a  long  rest.  Secret  doings 
are  not  always  very  pleasant,  eh  ?" 

As  he  spoke  he  opened  a  gate  and  entered  without 
knocking ;  it  was  dark  and  I  could  not  distinguish  any  thing 
as  he  hurried  me  through  the  yard.  Keaching  the  house,  a 
small  house,  I  saw  he  took  a  key  from  his  pocket  and  •  un- 
locked the  outer  door,  ushered  me  into  the  hallway  and  in 
the  dark  led  me  up  a  flight  of  stairs.  On  landing  he  struck 
a  match  and  lit  a  candle  which  stood  on  a  table  within  a 
maesive  silver  candlestick.  He  then  led  me  into  a  small, 
but  daintily,  luxuriantly  furnished  chamber,  and  drawing 
me  to  him  whispered  :  "  See,  I  have  been  getting  ready, 
intending  to  come  after  you  by  and  by ;  but  meeting  you 
this  afternoon,  have  hurried  matters  somewhat.  I  have  no 
attendants  yet  engaged,  so  you  will  be  left  here  tomorrow 
alone  I  am  afraid ;  but  you  need  not  mind,  there  is  ente- 
tainment  enough  here  for  a  while,"  and  speaking  thus  he  led 
me  into  the  next  room,  a  handsome,  luxurious  parlor,  rich- 
ly carpeted,  with  books,  pictures,  ornaments  and  a  hand- 
some piano  with  a  good  stock  of  music  upon  it.  I  noticed 
heavy  rich  curtains  draped  the  windows  in  both  rooms, 
rendering  them  quite  private  from  without. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  your  prison  ?  "  he  asked,  putting 
his  hands  with  a  firm  grip  upon  my  shoulders,  standing  in 
front  of  me,  and  looking  with  saucy  impudence  into  my 
face. 

"  The  prison  is  unimportant,  the  jailer  is  what  I  will  like 


Abroad. 


279 


or  dislike.  But,  Guerrie,  you  said  we  were  to  be  married, 
and  it  is  getting  late  ? "  I  felt  uneasy  and  doubtless  showed 
it  in  my  manner  and  looks. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,  my  dear,  but  I  do  not  like  to  leave 
you  alone  here  while  I  go  for  the  minister." 

"  I  am  not  afraid.  Lock  the  door  and  gate,  and  please 
go  at  once.  Nothing  can  molest  me."  Ah,  how  well  I 
remember  his  laugh,  as  he  shook  his  head  and  said,  kissing 
me  passionately : 

"I  will  make  it  all  right  in  a  few  minutes,  Miss  Prudence, 
I  see  nothing  can  be  done  until  a  minister  says  you  are  my 
wife,  so  goodbye  for  a  little  while ;  go  curl  your  hair  and 
look  pretty  when  I  come  back."  He  laughed  again 
and  kissing  me,  left.  I  heard  him  lock  the  outer  door, 
and  I  began  to  brush  up  and  look  as  pretty  as  I  could. 

And  I  was  happy ;  my  whole  being  was  thrilled  with 
delight  as  I  thought  that  I  would  so  soon  be  his  wife.  He 
was  gone  a  long  while — hours  it  seemed  to  me — but  in  fact 
not  much  more  than  an  hour,  yet  I  was  getting  impatient 
and  fearful,  every  thing  was  so  still  and  desolate.  I  could 
not  see  or  hear  any  thing  from  the  street  for  the  house  stood 
far  back,  a  deep  yard  in  front,  with  several  large  trees,  the 
thick  summer  foliage  hiding  it  completely  from  the  street. 
A  very  prison  indeed,  I  thought  as  I  turned  from  the  win- 
dow  with  an  involuntary  feeling  of  discomfiture  and  fear. 
But  it  vanished  when  I  looked  around  the  pretty,  elegant 
little  parlor  and  felt  it  would  soon  be  my  rightful  home, 
and  though  a  prisoner  for  a  while  I  would  not  have  to  work 
but  could  live  in  ease  with  a  husband  to  care  for  me.  You 
know  I  always  hated  work.  Just  as  I  began  to  get  nervous 
I  heard  the  door  open  below,  and  heard  voices  as  they  as- 
cended the  stairs,  and  felt  wonderfully  relieved  when  Gerry 
entered  accompanied  by  a  tall,  clerical-looking  young  man, 
and  an  elderly,  respectable-looking  white  woman.  They 
were  introduced  to  me  as  the  Rev.  Mr.  Norris,  a  young  Bap- 
tist divine,  and  Mrs.  Ridley.  The  former  at  once  pro- 
ceeded with  the  ceremony  and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  I 
thought  I  was  Gerald  Hasting's  lawful  wife.    Giving  me  a 


28o 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


marriage  certificate  at  my  request,  he  departed,  and  Gerry- 
then  explained  that  Mrs.  Ridley  was  to  live  down  stairs  and 
do  for  me,  but  that  I  must  stay  up  in  my  two  rooms  and 
not  interfere  with  her  in  any  way.  At  his  command  she 
left  to  prepare  us  supper,  as  he  declared  he  was  starving, 
and  I  felt  very  hungry  also,  for  I  had  eaten  nothing  that 
whole  day  since  breakfast.  When  we  were  left  alone  Gerry 
took  me  in  his  arms  with  a  husband's  privileged  liberty, 
bestowing  on  me  unlimited,  rapturous  caresses,  declaring 
how  he  loved  me,  how  happy  he  was  that  I  was  his  darling 
wife,  and  made  me  vow  again  that  I  would  keep  our  rela- 
tionship a  profound  secret  and  call  myself  Mrs.  Gerry, 
never  letting  Mrs.  Ridley  or  any  one  know  his  name  was 
Hastings. 

I  first  felt  the  misery  of  this  secrecy  when  he  left  me 
the  next  morning  to  attend  church,  and  I  was  left  alone 
until  midnight,  when  he  came  in  and  repaid  my  weary 
waiting  with  his  passionate  (even  for  a  husband)  excessive 
caressing  and  fondling. 

For  the  next  month  I  dwelt  in  satisfied  happiness  ;  Ger- 
ald was  all  I  could  desire  him  to  be.  He  let  me  want  for 
nothing ;  brought  me  books,  music,  flowers,  fruit  and  the 
finest  French  confectionery.  Giving  me  money  sufficient 
to  gratify  any  desire  of  finery  in  dress  I  should  fancy,  but 
oh,  I  was  such  a  close  prisoner,  never  even  going  down- 
stairs, nor  could  I  see  a  person  on  the  street  so  entirely  was 
this  house  (built  for  the  purpose  I  sometimes  thought)  hid 
away,  buried  among  large,  luxuriant  oak  trees,  yet  it  was 
very  delightful  to  me,  who  had  had  to  struggle  for  ruy  daily 
bread,  to  be  thus  provided  and  cared  for.  And  though  I 
only  saw  very  little  of  my  husband,  for  he  only  came  in 
late  at  night,  leaving  very  early  in  the  morning,  I  was 
happy.  He  was  so  fond,  loving  and  demonstrative  in  his 
affection,  that  it  repaid  me  amply  for  the  monotonous,  lonely 
hours  when  he  was  away.  One  night  that  winter  he 
laughingly  told  me  Louis  Montaine  was  in  town  making 
quite  a  rigid  search  £or  me  and  that  I  must  keep  very  close. 
I  laughed  and  replied  that  he  would  not  find  me;  but  even 


Abroad. 


281 


then  I  felt  sorry  that  I  was  such  a  prisoner.  I  longed  to 
see  the  street  and  human  kind  once  more.  And  what  made 
it  harder  to  bear,  my  health  began  to  fall  me  rapidly.  I 
grew  very  weak  and  had  gloomy,  despondent  spells  which 
I  could  not  overcome  and  would  have  to  lie  by  the  hour  on 
the  bed.  But  Gerald  was  not  concerned  as  I  felt  he  should 
be ;  his  visits  became  fewer ;  his  lavieh  caresses  lessened, 
and  I  saw  with  poignant  anguish  that  he  was  getting  satiated. 
I  felt  keenly  hi6  love  was  not  true  and  lasting  ;  that  I  was 
to  become  that  miserable  object,  a  neglected  wife. 

In  March,  unattended  by  any  physician,  Mrs.  Ridley,  my 
only  attendant,  my  child  was  born,  a  black-eyed,  black- 
haired  baby  girl,  the  image  of  her  handsome  father.  She 
was  seven  days  old  when  he  came  to  see  me,  and  I  was 
very  ill  and  weak.  He  stood  by  my  bedside  and  oh  !  Lot- 
tie, told  me  such  terrible  things.  He  said  the  child  was  not 
his — he  was  not  its  father ;  my  practiced  deceit  and  crimi- 
nality was  apparent,  for  he  and  I  knew  who  its  father  was, 
and  that  I  need  never  think  he  would  ever  own  or  care  for 
it.  He  left  me  in  scorn  and  anger,  and  for  several  weeks, 
while  1  hovered  on  the  brink  of  the  grave,  he  never  came 
or  sent  a  line  or  one  cent's  worth  of  nourishment.  He 
wanted  me  to  die,  but  I  saw  his  aim  and  rose  up  determined 
to  baffle  him.  Fortunately  I  had  money,  which,  in  his  first 
days,  he  had  lavished  upon  me  and  which  I  had  very  little 
occasion  to  spend,  and  so  did  not  want  now,  notwithstand- 
ing his  neglect  and  desertion.  With  a  desire  to  find  out 
what  was  the  matter,  and  an  irresistible  longing  to  see  the 
outer  world  again,  I  began  to  venture  out,  day  after  day, 
keeping  it  up,  and  soon  began  to  feel  the  invigorating  ef- 
fects of  pure  air  and  out-door  exercise,  and  with  the  view 
to  regain  my  strength,  I  went  out  regularly^  leaving  my 
baby  with  Mrs.  Ridley.  I  had  not  seen  Gerry  now  for 
seven  weeks,  when  one  day  I  came  upon  him  suddenly  in 
company  with  some  young  men.  He  recognized  me, 
doubtless,  though  I  wore  a  thick  veil,  for  that  afternoon  I 
received  a  note  from  him  warning  me  to  keep  in,  that  he 
had  been  away  but  would  come  and  see  me  soon.    I  un- 


282 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


heeded  the  command  and  the  next  afternoon  went  out,  and 
as  fate  would  have  it,  I  saw  him  again,  this  time  driving 
out  beside  a  beautiful  girl  in  a  gay,  dashing  vehicle.  I 
stood  still,  all  the  old  bitter  miseries  welling  up  with  poig- 
nant pain  before  me.  The  sun  of  my  life  set  suddenly, 
leaving  all  dark,  cold  and  dreary  within.  Those  keeny 
guilty  eyes  saw  me  again,  and  that  night  he  came.  A 
stormy  scene  ensued.  He  forbid  me  to  go  out,  while  I 
taunted.  He  had  lost  all  power  to  force  me  into  obedience. 
"Do  not  think,  Gerry,  that  I  will  stand  by  tamely  and  allow 
you  to  gallant  another  lady  about,  leaving  your  wife  home 
alone  and  wanting."  "My  wife  V  he  sneeringly  laughed. 
"Who  said  you  was  my  wife  ?  That  is  only  a  little  dream 
of  yours,  my  dear."  Oh!  God,  how  he  maddened  me.  I 
raved  wildly.  Yowed  that  I  would  go  to  his  father  and  to 
the  lady  with  whom  I  had  seen  him  and  show  them  my 
marriage  certificate  and  his  child.  "You  cannot  deny  that 
it  is  your  child ;  God  has,  in  justice  to  me,  stamped  it  your 
very  image.  She  is  a  perfect  Hastings.  In  a  court  of  jus- 
tice they  would  declare  it  your  child,  and  why  Should  you 
deny  what  you  know  to  be  the  truth.  Mark  your  daughter 
well,  and  see  in  her  your  very  counterpart,  your  very  self," 
and  I  snatched  up  the  innocent  little  creature  and  held  it  up 
to  his  view. 

"  You  had  better  not  tell  me  it  is  my  child,"  he  said  with 
a  bitter  laugh  and  hard  glitter  in  his  angry,  black  eyes,  "for 
I  can  take  it  away  from  you,  and  then  where  is  your  boast- 
ed power?  Mind,  Lila,  how  you  taunt  and  threaten  me. 
Be  quiet  and  good,  and  keep  in,  and  it  will  all  be  well.  I 
am  only  flirting  with  the  girl  to  blind  and  satisfy  my  par- 
ents, and  will  come  and  see  you  again.  I  have  been  away. 
In  the  meantime,  take  this,"  and  he  threw  a  heavy  purse 
upon  my  bed,  leaning  forward  and  kissing  me  and  the  baby. 
"  Mind,  do  not  go  out.  If  I  meet  you  on  the  street  again 
it  will  not  be  well.  Beware  !  "  and  he  was  gone.  More  for 
fear  to  keep  me  quiet  than  any  return  of  his  old  love,  his  visits 
and  gifts  became  quite  frequent ;  but  understanding  it  all,  I 
was  not  the  tame,  deceived  dupe  of  old,  and  would  go  out. 


Abroad, 


283 


He  had  broken  his  vow  to  me,  why  should  not  I  do  the 
same?  Again  and  again  I  saw  him  out  riding  and  walking 
with  Miss  Claudia  Ennes  ;  heard  passersby  remark  on  her 
wealth,  beauty  and  gentle  birth,  and  say  that  young  Hast- 
ings would  do  well.  When  he  came  in  at  night  to  see  me, 
I  would  taunt  him  with  the  street  scandal,  and  one  night 
he  became  infuriated,  and  recklessly  exposed  his  villainy, 
by  declaring  that  I  was  not  his  wife ;  that  the  ceremony 
had  been  a  sham,  performed  by  one  of  the  students  to  sat- 
isfy my  scruples ;  that  my  child  was  of  ignoble  birth,  etc. 
In  a  rage  he  left.  Stupified  and  shockeclthat  I  had  been 
so  villainously  duped,  and  that  I  was  the  vile,  dishonored 
thing  he  represented  me  to  be,  made  me  ill,  and  I  often 
wondered  how  I  survived  the  fearful  shock — the  horrible 
knowledge !  When  the  reaction  came  I  arose,  my  heart 
burning  with  vengeance,  my  brain  fired  with  the  thought 
how  I  could  punish  him  best.  I  will  go  to  her,  carry  my 
child  and  tell  her  all.  Ask  who  the  child's  father  is  \  She 
will  know  without  me  telling  her.  I  will  denounce  him, 
the  incarnate  fiend !  But,  horror !  when  I  attempted  to 
start  on  my  errand  of  vengeance,  I  found  I  was  a  prisouer. 
The  key  was  turned  in  the  hall  door,  and  I  knew  there  was 
no  other  outlet  except  from  the  high  windows  from  which 
I  knew  I  dare  not  attempt  to  escape.  Oh !  how  I  raved 
in  my  helplessness!  How  I  boiled  with  fury  when  I 
thought  he  was  free  and  courting  the  girl  whom  he  would 
marry  ere  I  could  tell  her  what  a  wretch  he  was!  My 
meals  were  brought  to  me  daily  and  put  within  my  door, 
the  stern,  paid  tool  leaving  instantly,  heedless  of  my 
prayers,  tears  and  passionate  entreaties  to  let  me  out. 
Twice  I  had  tried  to  rush  past  her  as  she  opened  a  crack  in 
my  door  to  place  the  tray  within,  but  was  seized  in  an  iron 
grip  and  put  back  like  a  helpless  little  child,  as  she  locked 
and  bolted  the  door  without.  For  nearly  two  years  I  was 
thus  kept  a  close  prisoner,  when  quite  unexpectedly  one 
night  Gerry  came  and  said  he  was  going  to  France,  and 
that  if  I  would  forgive  him  for  the  past,  and  go  with  him, 
he  would  be  so  glad.    He  said  his  harshness  and  seeming 


284 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


cruelty  was  fear  of  his  father  who  would  disinherit  him  if 
he  found  out  his  love  for  me,  but  out  in  foreign  lands  he 
would  be  free  to  do  as  he  liked,  and  he  vowed,  with  his 
arm  about  me  as  in  the  old  fond  days,  that  he  still  loved 
me  dearly,  passionately.  I  believed  and  forgave  him  again, 
for  I  still  loved  this  man  madly,  passionately,  though  he 
had  been  so  cruel.  Without  doubting  I  made  hasty  pre- 
parations, and  the  next  night  he  came  for  me  and  drove  off 
in  a  close  carriage  winch  quickly  conveyed  us  to  a  large, 
sombre  looking  steamer,  puffing  and  steaming  at  one  of 
the  wharves,  in  readiness  to  start.  He  put  me  in  a  cozy 
little  state  room  and  made  me  lie  down,  and  said  I  must 
stay  there  as  a  preventive  of  sea-sickness,  that  he  would 
be  back  after  a  while,  having  to  look  after  our  luggage  and 
would  take  Zoa  out  on  deck  to  see  the  boat  start.  Try  and 
go  to  sleep,  I  will  be  back  in  a  few  minutes."  As  he  spoke 
he  lifted  my  beautiful  little  Zoa  in  his  arms,  a  sweet,  prat- 
tling child  of  two  years,  who  was  as  much  in  love  with  him 
as  I  was.  Ah !  how  I  remember  that  moment,  a  moment 
of  supreme  joy  and  happiness  to  me,  as  1  saw  my  little 
darling  one  nestle  lovingly  in  his  arms  and  lay  her  black, 
curly  little  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  saw  him  hug  her  to 
his  breast  and  kiss  the  cherry  little  mouth,  and  I  thought 
we  were  to  be  happy  together  once  more.  "  You  know  I 
love  this  child,  Lila,"  he  laughed  as  he  leaned  over  and 
kissed  my  cheek,  at  the  same  time  laying  a  handkerchief 
over  my  face  saying :  "  This  will  keep  you  from  getting 
sick.  Smell  it."  I  was  passive,  inhaled  the  chloroform 
(which  I  found  out  afterwards)  plenteously,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  was  oblivious  to  all. 

The  next  day  was  far  advanced,  and  the  ship  was  far  out 
on  the  great,  billowy  deep  when  I  awoke,  awoke  to  find 
myself  alone.  I  was  mad  then,  a  raving  maniac  in  my 
grief  and  wild  despair,  for  I  found  out  very  soon  that  I  was 
being  carried  to  a  strange  land  without  any  means  of  sup- 
port. This  was  his  work  to  rid  himself  of  me :  he  had 
done  this,  and  to  make  the  deed  more  cruel  and  heartless, 
he  had  stolen  my  child,  my  only  comfort,  for  the  Captain 


Abroad. 


285 


told  me  he  had  gone  ashore  with  the  child.  I  felt  at  times 
that  I  would  throw  rnyself  overboard,  but  no,  that  would 
be  pleasing  him  !  I  would  live  and  see  the  day  that  I  could 
punish  him  for  what  he  had  done  for  me.  I  went  to  the 
Captain  and  told  him  I  was  being  carried  abroad  against 
my  will,  and  begged  him  to  send  me  back,  but  he  only 
laughed  and  said  he  had  been  directed  to  carry  me  to 
France,  and  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  get  back  until 
the  ship  left  for  America.  To  make  a  lifetime  of  agony 
brief,  I  arrived  there  at  last,  and  was  put  off,  a  stranger  in 
a  strange  land.  Think  you  that  there  could  be  a  more 
heartless,  cruel  act  conceived  and  vilely  carried  out?  Death 
would  have  been  preferable.  Luckily  I  had  a  little  money 
and  some  jewelry,  but  it  was  not  sufficient  by  a  great  deal 
to  pay  my  way  back  ;  so,  hoarding  it  away,  I  took  cheap 
lodgings  and  began  at  once  to  look  out  for  some  employ- 
ment, legal,  dishonorable,  degrading,  any  thing  would  suit, 
so  long  as  I  could  make  enough  to  keep  me  from  starving 
and  pay  my  way  back  and  confront  this  villain  and  de- 
nounce him  to  the  world.  I  heard  from  my  hostess  a 
stage-manager  wanted  some  beautiful  women  to  make  up 
scenes  and  engage  in  ballet  dancing.  I  was  reckless;  vir- 
tue and  purity  were  subservient  to  my  wild  desire  to  make 
some  money.  I  applied  for  the  place  and  was  at  once  em- 
ployed. The  pay  was  poor,  the  work  hard,  still  I  kept  at 
it,  being  able  to  lay  but  a  very  little  aside  for  my  cherished 
purpose.  At  the  end  of  a  year,  with  joy  I  counted  the 
sum  I  had  saved,  and  knew  it  was  enough  to  take  me  back. 

Searching  in  the  papers  for  information  when  a  ship 
would  sail  direct  for  America  I  accidently  caught  the  name 
of  Hastings  and  Montaine,  and  read  of  a  recent  arrival,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gerald  Hastings,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Louis  Montaine. 
It  quite  changed  the  current  of  my  deliberations,  and  I 
searched  for  the  hotel  where  their  names  would  be  regis- 
tered. I  found  it,  and,  disguising  myself  as  best  I  could, 
I  repaired  thither.  I  hovered  around  hour  after  hour, 
keeping  the  entrance  in  sight,  and  was  finally  rewarded  to 
see  the  four  come  out.    I  instantly  recognized  Gerald  Has- 


286 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


tings,  and  knew  the  lady  on  his  arm  was  my  rival ;  the  girl 
who  had  caused  him  to  weary  of  and  treat  me  as  he  had 
done.  I  also  recognized  Louis  Montaine,  but  did  not  know 
who  you  were  at  first,  and  can  scarcely  believe  you  are  the 
Charlotte  Howard  I  knew  and  once  called  sister,  you  have 
grown  so  beautiful  and  distinguished  looking.  I  watched 
yon  with  interest  for  I  saw  you  were  his  wife,  and  yet  you 
were  not  Irene  Burgoyne — another  bitter,  hated  enemy  of 
mine — and  I  was  glad,  glad  to  know  Louis  Montaine  was 
not^ier  husband,  that  she  had  lost  him,  for  I  had  hoped, 
wished,  to  see  that  day  and  was  repaid  at  last.  And  now, 
vengeance  for  the  terrible  wrong  practiced  upon  me  by 
Gerald  Hastings  and  then  I  would  die  content,  even  if  I 
had  to  suffer  eternal  torment  for  it ! 

Lottie,  like  your  shadow  I  followed  you  from  place  to 
place,  using  the  money  I  had  saved,  watching  my  chance  to 
snatch  from  him  this  lawful  wife.  That  chance  came  a 
few  hours  ago,  as  you  know,  of  which  I  took  advantage. 
Do  you  blame  me  ?  Think  you  that  I  will  go  to  Hell  for 
it  ?  Well,  I  am  not  afraid  ;  Hell  can  not  be  worse  than  what 
I  have  felt  here  on  earth  ! 

The  dying  girl  had  spoken  for  the  most  part  in  a  rapid, 
yet  feeble  tone,  which  grew  weaker  and  weaker  as  she  pro- 
ceeded, and  at  times  speaking  with  great  difficulty,  her 
breath  coming  in  quick  gasps,  as  she  recalled  her  bitter 
wrongs  and  recited  the  tale  of  her  wretched  life.  Her 
listeners,  perfectly  petrified  with  the  tale  of  her  woe,  and 
horrified  to  have  such  a  fearful,  monstrous  charge  of  crime, 
cruelty  and  heartlessness  laid  at  the  door  of  one  that  Louis 
Montaine  had  from  boyhood  loved  and  esteemed  as  a  dear 
friend,  and  whom  Charlotte  had  looked  upon  as  a  high-toned, 
honorable  gentleman  and  Christian  character,  the  husband 
and  wife  exchanged  expressive  glances  of  amazement,  pain 
and  incredulity,  but  made  no  remark,  for  fear  the  knowledge 
of  his  presence  would  excite  the  sick  woman  who  was  fail- 
ing rapidly. 

Uninterruptedly  she  was  allowed  to  narrate  her  wrongs 
and  sufferings,  and  as  she  finished  and  appealed  to  Char- 


Abroad. 


287 


lotte  with  eyes  wild  and  glassy,  and  a  high  pitch  of  excite- 
ment in  tone  and  manner,  with  a  soothing,  sorrowful  voice 
she  replied,  gently  putting  the  hair  away  from  her  forehead  r 

"  My  poor  Lila,  you  have  indeed  been  fearfully  sinned 
against  and  suffered.  You  have  had  enough  to  goad  you 
on  to  desperation  ;  but,  my  dear  sister,  I  can  not  tell  you 
that  you  were  justified  to  take  vengeance  in  your  own 
hands.  God  would  have  avenged  them  surely,  if  slowly, 
and  although  you  could  not  trust  Him,  and  felt  He  tarried 
too  long,  He  W*ould  have  punished  without  fail  the  oppres- 
sor and  cowardly  tyrant  that  dealt  so  falsely  and  cruelly  by 
you.  Are  you  sure,  Lila,  you  do  not  err  in  making  such 
fearful  charges?  It  is  so  hard  to  believe  Mr.  Hastings  is 
guilty  of  such  monstrous  injustice  and  cowardly  cruelty. 
He  seems  so  gentlemanly,  true  and  kind." 

"  By  your  God,  Charlotte,  every  word  is  true,  and  in- 
stead of  exaggerating,  I  have  painted  his  villainy  far  too 
faintly.  Oh  !  he  has  treated  me  shamefully,  cruelly !  and 
oh !  I  loved  him  so  passionately,  dearly.  Lottie,  I  could 
have  knelt  at  his  feet  and  worhipped  him  !  But  his  scorn, 
his  cruelty  drove  me  mad !  I  was  wild,  reckless.  I  could 
not  see  him  love  and  cherish  another.  I  could  not  stand  by 
and  see  another  happy  and  blest  with  the  love  that  I 
would  have  laid  down  my  life  to  obtain.  I  can  not  be 
sorry  for  him,  he  has  done  me  so  badly.  I  have  labored, 
waited  and  panted  with  an  insatiable  thirst  for  vengeance ; 
to  foil  him  of  anticipated  bliss  ;  to  make  him  feel  what 
I  have  endured  ;  s.nd  I  had  the  strength  and  the  courage  to 
do  it,  and  can  now  die  satisfied.  I  am  avenged !  Yes, 
yes,  Lottie,  it  is  all  true ;  for  though  I  am  a  wretched,  lost 
sinner,  I  would  not  in  this  fearful  moment  dye  my  soul  in 
a  deeper  stain  of  guilt  and  die  with  a  falsehood  on  my  lips, 
and  I  swear  with  my  latest  breath  that  it  is  all  true.  Oh  ! 
Lottie,"  and  her  voice  grew  strong  and  wild,  "  why  did  I 
leave  my  home  ?  why  did  I  go  out  alone — so  young,  so 
fair  and  frail — into  the  wide,  wide — and  oh  !  such  a  cruel 
— world?  If  I  had  only  married  o]d  Mr.  Yerneer  I  would 
have  been  safe  !    But  now  I  am  a  murderess,  a  castaway 


288 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


from  Heaven,  a  fit  object  for  Hell !  A  despised,  miserable, 
degraded  creature  !  Oh  !  will  I  go  to  Hell  ?  Will  I  suffer 
eternal  torment  ?  Will  I  be  cast  into  outer  darkness,  where 
there  shall  be  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth  ?  But  he  will 
go  there  too !  Gerald  Hastings  will  go  there !  I  will  6ee 
him  there  !  And  Irene  Burgoyne  and  her  serpent  father  ! 
They  have  all  wronged  me  !  She  was  the  first  vile  enemy 
that  polluted  my  good  name  :  destroyed  public  confidence"; 
cheated  me  from  making  an  honest  livelihood  !  They  will 
all  be  there !  If  I  burn  in  torment,  it  will  be  a  balm  to  see 
them  burn  too  !  Oh !  Lottie,  Lottie !  save  me  !  It  is  fear- 
fnl  to  burn  eternally  !  I  smell  the  sulphur  and  brimstone ! 
I  feel  the  awful  heat !    Oh  !  Lottie  !  Lottie !  save  me  !  " 

She  sprang  up  wildly,  her  eyes  glaring,  her  hands 
clenched,  and  looked  about  her,  then  with  a  heart-rending 
shriek  she  fell  back  on  the  pillow.  There  was  a 
gurgling  sound,  foam  issued  from  her  mouth,  the  hands 
relaxed,  the  glassy  eyes  set,  and  the  next  moment  her  spirit 
fled  its  mortal  tenement,  and  all  that  remained  of  the  poor, 
misguided,  wronged  and  unhappy  Lila  was  her  cold,  lifeless 
clay.  All  her  miseries,  sins  and  wrongs  were  over,  and 
can  not  we  trust  she  had  gone  to  a  better,  happier  home, 
even  eternal  mansions  above,  where  sorrows  and  tears  are 
unknown?  for  if  her  stubborn  will  would  not  say  in  words, 
"Lord,  help  or  I  perish/'  and,  "God  be  merciful  to  me 
a  sinner,"  her  soul's  anguished  cry  was  for  pardon  and 
help.  She  had  keenly  felt  she  was  a  sinner;  she  feared 
God's  wrath,  the  God  she  had  pretended  to  deny,  yet  in 
the  last  anguished  throes  of  death  she  instinctively  felt 
His  power  and  feared  His  offended  justice;  and  think 
you  the  pitying,  gentle  Jesus,  who  knew  what  it  was  to 
be  tempted,  scorned,  reviled,  would  not  pity  this  frail, 
erring  child  of  sin  and  sorrow — a  divine  pity,  even  unto 
forgiveness  and  love  ? 

Assistance  was  summoned,  Louis  Hontaine  retired,  and 
the  unfortunate  girl  was  prepared  for  burial.  With  her 
own  hands  Charlotte  combed  and  curled  the  fair,  luxuriant 


Abroad. 


289 


hair,  closed  the  sad,  beautiful  eyes,  and  furnished  soft, 
fleecy  garments  of  her  own  to  deck  her  for  the  grave. 

"It  is  far  better  she  has  gone  from  this  painful,  sad  life, 
poor,  erring,  nameless  waif,  than  to  live  on  in  misery  and 
shame,  with  no  rightful  name,  no  knowledge  of  any  parentst 
which,  if  she  knew,  would  only  add  bitterness  and  grief 
to  what  she  had  already  to  endure,"  murmured  Charlotte 
as  she  kissed  the  cold,  icy  forehead  and  folded  the  limp 
hands  upon  the  lifeless  breast.  "Poor,  poor  Lila,  so  young, 
so  fair  and  so  wronged  and  sinned  against !  Prayers  are 
unavailing  for  thee  now,  but  Jesus,  who  forgave  and  con- 
demned not  the  most  flagrant  sinner,  will  not  cast  thee  out, 
but  give  thy  soul  the  rest  and  peace  in  Paradise  which 
would  never  have  been  yours  here  on  earth." 

In  her  trunk  were  found  a  child's  clothing  carefully 
packed  away,  a  box  of  letters  and  many  dried,  pressed 
flowers,  her  supposed  marriage  certificate  sealed  and  hid 
away,  stern  witnesses  of  the  guilt  and  cruelty  of  her  heart- 
less seducer.  A  wedding  ring  was  on  her  finger,  and  a 
simple  gold  locket,  with  the  likeness  of  the  dark,  hand- 
some face  of  Gerald  Hastings  on  one  side  and  a  dark, 
silky  tress  of  hair  on  the  other,  was  suspended  around  her 
neck  with  a  black  ribbon.  No  money  or  other  valuables, 
and  very  scant,  poor  clothing,  showed  plainly  the  destitu- 
tion and  suffering  of  the  unhappy  girl.  Charlotte  con- 
veyed them  to  her  husband,  tears  of  pity  and  sadness  in 
her  gentle  eyes.  "  Poor,  heart-broken  Lila !  Can  you 
believe,  Louis,  that  Gerald  Hastings  is  guilty  of  such 
heartless  cruelty  ?  These  are  his  letters  and  his  marriage 
certificate,  written  proofs  of  his  deception  and  treachery.'' 

"  Shall  I  show  them  to  him  and  let  him  know  we  under- 
stand his  foui,  wicked  deed  V  Louis  Montaine  asked,  a  red, 
angry  spot  on  his  cheek,  a  glitter  of  excitement  in  his  eyes. 
"  I  feel  outraged  to  think  we  have  been  on  such  friendly 
terms  with  the  heartless  fiend  !  Just  to  imagine  the  cow- 
ardly, outrageous  cruelty  of  sending  a  helpless,  beautiful, 
dependent  girl  to  such  a  place  as  Paris !  It  is  monstrous ! 
I  can  scarcely  refrain  from  confronting  him  with  his  guilt, 


290  The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 

and  let  him  understand  he  is  no  further  a  friend  or  associate 
of  mine,  for  it  is  certain  he  shall  never  enter  my  home.  His 
very  presence  would  contaminate  the  pure  atmosphere  sur- 
rounding my  wife.'' 

"  No,  no,  my  husband,  do  not  get  angry  and  excite  your- 
self. He  is  suffering  now,  atoning  for  his  guilt.  Let  me 
keep  these  sad  mementoes  of  poor  Lila,  for  no  matter  what 
she  was  I  loved  her  as  a  sister.  She  was  the  victim  of 
others'  sins  and  criminality,  and  how  she  suffered,  what  she 
•endured,  I  shudder  to  recall !  But  she  is  at  rest  now,  her 
wrongs  righted,  and  will  you  not  for  my  sake  let  it  all  be 
buried  with  her  ?  Leave  Mr.  Hastings  to  God  ;  it  is  not 
for  us  to  condemn.  His  guilt,  remorse  and  the  loss  of  his 
wife,  whom  he  loved  dearly  I  believe,  will  punish  him  with- 
out any  interference  on  our  part.  His  suffering,  and  I 
trust  deep  contrition  and  remorse,  is  a  sting,  without  us 
trying  to  add  to  its  venom.  When  we  bury  Lila  let  us  bury 
all  animosity  in  her  grave.  For  think  how  wretched  and 
exaggerated  were  her  sufferings  by  cherishing  vengeance  in 
her  heart  and  stubborn  unforgiveness  in  her  soul.  Let 
God  deal  with  Mr.  Hastings,  Louis,  and  let  us  look  more 
closely  at  our  own  imperfections  and  failings  before  we 
stand  in  judgment  against  a  sinful,  erring,  but  I  hope 
awakened,  penitent,  brother  sinner." 

"  Let  it  be  as  you  will  it,  my  darling  wife,"  was  the  fond 
husband's  reply,  as  he  kissed  the  tear-stained  cheek,  deep, 
adoring  emotions  swelling  his  heart.  M  It  is  best  to  keep 
quiet  and  let  a  higher  power  deal  with  him.  Any  inter- 
ference on  my  part  might  bring  exposure  of  what  we  wish 
to  be  buried  forever.  His  father  is  the  holder  of  our  fear- 
ful secret,  my  mother's  degradation,  and  if  I  expose  the 
son  the  father  might  not  scruple  to  expose  me.  It  is  best 
she  is  dead,  and  best,  safest  as  you  say,  to  bury  all  in  her 
grave.  Poor  girl !  Keep  carefully  the  box  you  have  with 
the  witnesses  of  his  guilt,  one  day  we  might  need  them." 

The  next  day  the  seemingly  aged  and  bereaved  husband 
left  for  home  with  the  corpse  of  the  beautiful,  proud  girl 
he  had  six  months  before  claimed  as  his  bride  ;  and  it  is 


Abroad. 


291 


needless  to  add  that  a  more  crushed,  conscience-stricken  and 
remorseful  man  could  not  be  found,  for  he  had  loved  his 
wife  with  a  true,  devoted  affection,  quite  unlike  the  more 
youthful,  licentious  and  quickly  satiated  passion  that  he 
had  had  for  the  lovely,  gifted,  but  unfortunate  music- 
teacher.  Claudia  Ennis,  proud,  and  a  spoiled  child  of 
wealth  and  doting  parents,  had  many  endearing  and  attrac- 
tive traits  of  character ;  her  redeeming  quality  being  a  true, 
unselfish  love  for  her  husband,  whose  affection,  instead  of 
waning  had  increased  during  those  almost  unalloyed  months 
of  their  honeymoon,  and  they  were  returning  with  bright, 
joyous  anticipations  of  future  wedded  bliss,  but  nipped  in 
the  bud  by  the  avenging  hand  of  an  offended  Deity,  as  a 
severe  but  just  chastisement  for  his  cruelty  and  cowardly 
treatment  of  a  helpless,  unfortunate  girl,  whose  dependence 
and  helples  ness  should  have  elicited  his  protection  and 
pity  instead  of  an  object  to  vent  his  unholy,  licentious  pas- 
sions upon.  Oh  !  would  that  we  feared  God's  wrath  more, 
and  believed  that  the  cries  of  the  helpless  and  oppressed 
reached  and  elicited  attention  from  that  great  God  who 
will  not  let  a  sparrow  fall  to  the  ground  unheeded  ! 

That  afternoon  the  remains  of  Lila,  the  nameless  waif, 
were  committed  to  their  final  resting-place  until  the  resur- 
rection morn,  in  a  sequestered  portion  of  an  Italian  ceme- 
tery. A  plain,  white  slab  to  mark  the  place,  with  an 
inscription  in  English,  at  Charlotte's  suggestion,  which  she 
said  would  attract  attention  from  the  many  strangers  that 
visited  the  place  yearly,  and  perhaps  they  would  out  of  pity 
for  the  lonely,  neglected  grave,  pluck  the  truant  weed  and 
place  a  flower,  or  bestow  some  little  attention  upon  it. 
A  frail  flower,  snatched  rudely  from  a  delicate  tendril,  and 
crushed  beneath  the  heel  of  a  masculine  boot,  was  the 
suggestive  design  above  the  simple  inscription  : 

"LILA.    Aged  21," 

proclaiming  pretty  clearly  the  fate  of  the  lonely  sleeper 
beneath. 

"Poor,  unfortunate,  wronged  girl,"  sobbed  Charlotte, 


292 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


hers  the  only  tears  shed  upon  the  desolate  grave.  "  Would 
that  I  could  have  found  her  sooner,  and  saved  her  from 
this  terrible  end — of  filling  the  grave  of  a  murderess,  a 
suicide — and  left  unknown,  unloved,  unmourned,  in  a  land 
of  strangers,  a  sad  victim  of  the  sin  and  wrong  of 
others." 

Saddened  and  depressed  by  this  sudden,  fearf nl  tragedy, 
the  young  couple  determined  to  leave  immediately,  con- 
trary to  former  plans,  and  the  next  day  saw  them  on  their 
way  to  Genoa,  where  they  contemplated  remaining  some 
time  to  rest,  for  their  travelling  mania  was  not  over,  as 
they  intended  in  the  early  spring  to  revisit  Baden-Baden, 
Switzerland,  and  the  Holy  Land,  hoping  by  the  following 
autumn  to  return  home,  well  satisfied  with  their  foreign 
tour,  by  which  time  their  future  winter's  palatial  residence 
in  Charleston  would  be  in  readiness  for  their  occupancy. 


HOME  AGAIN. 


^N^Ppon  the  deck  of  a  proud,  noble  champion  of  the 
deep,  a  goodly  crowd  were  assembled,  many  with 
^KCf  sad  hearts  and  tearful  eyes  as  they  waved  an  adieu 
with  their  handkerchiefs  to  friends  and  relatives  left  be- 
hind, others  happy,  gleeful,  knowing  they  were  returning 
home  and  would  soon  meet  loved  ones  once  more,  as  the 

steamer   noisily,  as  if  to  show  her  importance,  left 

the  busy  port  of  New  York  on  a  particularly  glorious  au- 
tumn afternoon,  bound  southward. 

Among  the  latter  we  recognize  some  of  our  old  friends. 
Louis  Montaine  and  his  wife  stand  a  little  apart,  no  regret 
on  their  faces  at  leaving  this  busy  emporium  of  life  for  the 
quieter  city  by  the  sea,  which  was  home,  but  rather  happy 
and  satisfied.  They  had  traveled  nearly  three  years,  and  it 
had  been  a  time  of  rich  enjoyment  and  complete  satisfac- 
tion, marred  only  by  the  sad  fate  of  Mrs.  Hastings  and 
Lila.  But  Charlotte  was  at  last  surfeited,  and  began  to 
talk  of  home,  and  with  his  ever  ready  willingness  to  have 
her  suited,  Louis  Montaine  at  once  turned  homeward. 

They  both  look  well  and  happy.  He  handsomer  than 
ever.  His  happy  wedded  life,  perfect  freedom  from  care, 
and  release  from  the  remorse  of  his  more  youthful  days, 
having  obliterated  the  sternness  and  almost  habitual  gloom 
from  his  face,  making  him  very  handsome  indeed.  Few 
men  could  be  found  handsomer  than  Louis  Montaine  at 
this  time,  for,  without  any  partiality,  he  was  a  decidedly 
striking,  handsome  and  high-bred  looking  man. 

And  Charlotte,  sweet,  pure  and  beautiful  as  ever  ;  a  trifle 
paler  and  slenderer  than  when  we  saw  her  last,  a  more  import- 
ant, maternal  air  characterizing  her,  very  easily  explained 
and  excused  by  the  bright,  restless,  cooing  boy  of  ten 

19 


294 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


months,  who  knows  her  as  mother,  and  who  is  known  to  be 
their  son  by  the  striking  resemblance  he  bears  to  his  hand- 
some father,  held  by  a  nurse  (old  Mammy  Chloe)  who  sits 
near  by. 

At  a  little  distance  another  young  couple  stand,  seeming- 
ly very  well  satisfied  at  their  departure,  but  not  with  their 
position,  for  she  says  :  "  The  wind  is  too  cool ;  and,  oh!  I 
am  so  afraid  of  getting  sea-sick.  Do  let  us  go  in  Wallie  !  " 
and  she  draws  a  shawl  about  her  closely. 

"  What !  already  thinking  of  getting  sea-sick  ?  "  he  ex- 
claimed laughing,  but  turning  to  do  her  bidding.  The 
same  conviction  seemed  to  strike  Charlotte,  for  at  that  mo- 
ment she  turned  to  give  directions  to  have  the  baby  carried 
in  out  of  the  fresh  and  rather  cool  air,  and  thus  facing  the 
two  trying  to  walk  steadily  from  the  deck. 

uMr.  Hayne!" 

"  Miss  Charlotte  !  " 

She  held  out  her  hand  with  a  smile,  gentle  and  cordial, 
and  with  a  little  hesitation  and  change  of  color  he  took  it. 
A  slight  embarrassment  followed,  instantly  dissipated  by 
her  unconcerned  manner  and  sweet  courtesy,  as  she  called 
her  husband's  attention  to  the  meeting,  both  expressing  in 
warm  terms  their  pleasure  at  meeting  him  again. 

Walter  Hayne  introduced  his  wife,  and  Louis  Montaine 
with  a  smile  at  once  recognized  Miss  Ida  Nathan,  of  Niag- 
ara fame. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  are  married  happily,  Hayne," 
Louis  Montaine  said  during  the  general  conversation  that 
followed,  "and  I  hope  the  old  feud  is  over  between  us,  and 
that  in  the  future  we  will  be  friends." 

"  I  hope  so,"  was  answered,  with  a  laugh  rather  con- 
strained, the  young  man  fidgeting  and  flushing  as  he  glanced 
at  his  interested  better-half.  "I  never  could  understand 
why  we  were  such  foes,  until  I  heard  of  your  marriage,  for 
I  never  once  supposed  you  were  my  rival.  I  always  liked, 
but  could  never  run  smoothly  with  you." 

"  It  was  my  fault,  you  see.  I  looked  upon  you  as  my 
successful  rival  and  could  not  be  friendly.    But  it  is  all 


Home  Again. 


295 


right  now  ;  you  are  happy,  so  are  we,  and  we  can  take  the 
past  to  laugh  at,  eh  ? " 

"  It  is  good  you  waited  until  now  to  speak  thus.  When 
I  first  heard  of  your  marriage,  I  could  have  killed  you 
with  a  keen  relish  ;  and  I  thought  I  would  never  get  over 
that  appetite  either — but  this  lady  cured  me." 

"  I  knew  you  would  thank  me  finally  for  what  you  con- 
sidered heartlessness  in  me,"  said  Charlotte  gently.  "  No 
one  should  marry  without  reciprocal  love,  or  else  they  need 
not  expect  any  happiness.  How  long  have  you  been 
married  ?  " 

"Five  months,"  was  smilingly  answered  by  Mrs.  Hayne. 
"We  are  just  returning  from  our  honeymoon,  having 
spent  the  summer  at  Saratoga.  Is  that  your  baby,  Mrs. 
Montaine?" 

"Yes,''  and  now  the  face  is  radiant,  the  eyes  beaming,  as 
the  young  mother  took  him  from  his  nurse  and  brought 
him  forward.    "Isn't  he  the  image  of  his  father  V 

"Decidedly,"  was  assented  with  a  laugh. 

"Yery  complimentary  to  me,"  remarked  the  proud 
father,  "for  every  one  says  he  is  the  handsomest  baby  they 
have  ever  seen,  and  I  think  so  myself." 

"He  is  a  remarkably  fine  child,  certainly,"  said  Walter 
Hayne,  his  tone  and  look  envious,  certainly  admiring. 

"And  looking  so  much  like  his  father,  I  presume  he  has 
his  name ;  I  am  alwas  interested  to  know  a  baby's  name," 
remarked  Mrs.  Hayne,  a  tinge  of  jealousy  in  her  tone, 
evidently  not  relishing  her  husband's  notice  and  admiration 
of  the  son  of  her  former  rival. 

"Quite  mistaken  there,  Mrs.  Hayne,  Mrs.  Montaine  had 
that  idea,  but  I  would  not  agree  to  it  on  any  consideration. 
She  would  necessarily  become  too  formal,  styling  me  Mr. 
Montaine,  to  distinguish  me  from  her  son  Louis.  We  call 
him  Howard,  as  1  wish  to  perpetuate  a  name  that  has 
brought  me  much  happiness  in  my  family.  He  has  not 
been  christened  yet,  but  that  will  be  his  name," 

Charlotte  laughed  merrily.  "He  is  afraid,  Mrs.  Hayne, 
I  might  love  one  Louis  better  than  the  other,  and  has  yet 


296 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


to  learn  a  wife's  and  mother's  love  is  distinct.  No  child 
can  ever  take  one  particle  from  what  was  first  and  will 
ever  be  his ;  but  perhaps  this  is  not  desired  information, 
and  I  am  keeping  Master  Howard  out  too  long ;  take  him 
in,  Chloe,  the  wind  is  too  bleak,''  and  much  to  that  young- 
ster's disp]easure  he  was  taken  off,  scolding  and  kicking  as 
only  a  baby  knows  how  to  perform  the  feat. 

"And  I  must  go  in  also  and  lie  down,  for  I  am  so  afraid 
of  sea  sickness.  This  is  my  first  voyage,  so  please  excuse 
us." 

"You  are  very  excusable,"  smiled  Charlotte,  "we  are 
quite  sea  hardy,  and  I  prefer  being  out  in  the  fresh  air 
when  I  am  on  shipboard,  which  accounts  for  my  exemption 
from  sickness,  and  I  would  advise  you  not  to  keep  too 
close ;  the  state-room  is  stifling  to  me,  and  you  will  find 
your  ocean  trip  far  more  pleasant,  entertaining  and  less 
wearisome  out  on  deck." 

"The  sight  of  the  water  makes  me  giddy.  Adieu,  we 
will  meet  again,''  and  laughing  she  determinedly  forced  her 
rather  unwilling  husband  away. 

The  two  young  couples  became  very  sociable,  and  the 
voyage  passed  over  very  agreeably.  The  weather  was  de- 
lightful and  calm,  and  notwithstanding  her  fears  Mrs. 
Hayne  suffered  very  little  from  sickness.  It  was  a  glorious 
autumn  afternoon,  the  sky  all  ablaze  with  the  glowing  sun- 
set, the  atmosphere  balmy  and  invigorating,  when  the 
proud  old  steamer,  after  a  very  favorable  and  uneventful 
trip,  entered  the  beautiful  harbor  and  hove  in  sight  of  the 
old  City  by  the  Sea. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hayne's  home  was  at  Columbia,  but  having 
never  visited  Charleston,  they  intended  to  stop  here  for 
a  while  before  going  into  the  interior. 

"  Won't  you  go  home  with  us,  Hayne  ? "  asked  Louis 
Montaine  as  they  stood  out  on  deck,  the  city  being  near 
and  very  distinct.  You  will  find  it  pleasanter  than  stop- 
ping at  a  hotel,  and  we  will  be  very  happy  to  entertain 
you.  Charlotte  is  a  stranger,  this  being  the  first  time  she 
will  see  her  future  home,  and  of  course  she  will  want  to* 


Home  Again. 


297 


see  every  nook  and  corner  of  a  city  she  has  heard  so  much 
about,  and  in  chaperoning  her  around  it  will  give  me  great 
pleasure  to  have  you  and  Mrs.  Hayne's  company.'' 

"  O  please  come  home  with  us  !  I  will  be  so  deiighied," 
pleaded  Charlotte,  and  seeing  no  way  of  escape,  the  cordial 
invitation  was  accepted. 

"  You  will  meet  some  old  friends,  Mr.  Hayne.  I  forgot 
to  tell  you  that  mamma,  aunt  Lucy  and  Arthur  are  down  and 
intend  to  spend  awhile  with  us.  Brother  Arthur  is  to  be 
married  this  winter,  and  I  will  then  revisit  my  old  native 
town  to  attend  the  wedding." 

For  the  next  half  hour  very  little  conversation  went  on, 
all  being  interested  at  the  near  approach  of  their  destina- 
tion, and  it  being  nearly  dark,  Louis  could  not  point  out 
many  familiar  objects  and  landmarks.  All  was  bustle  and 
noise  now  ;  hurried,  excited  preparations  going  on  to  land ; 
hearts  beating  high  at  tiie  expectation  of  meeting  loved 
ones — all  glad  to  be  able  to  leave  the  prison  of  the  last  few 
days. 

O  Louis,  I  see  brother,  dear  Arthur !  "  gasped  Char- 
lotte, with  an  almost  hysterical  cry  of  delight  grasping 
her  husband's  arm.  "See  him  by  that  light?"  and  look- 
ing upon  the  radiant,  glowing  face  of  his  wife,  the  husband 
knew  how  glad  she  was  to  get  home  and  meet  kindred  and 
friends  once  more. 

"  I  see  him  too ;  but  do  not  jump  overboard  ;  he  will 
come  to  you  soon,"  and  Louis  Montaine  laughingly,  fondly 
put  his  arm  around  her. 

The  next  instant  he  was  aboard.  The  meeting  must  be 
imagined,  not  described. 

"  Mother  and  auntie  are  waiting  with  eager  impatience," 
he  said,  after  first  gainiug  his  breath.  "  I  would  not  let 
them  come  down,  for  mother  is  like  one  crazy  to  see  her 
Lottie,  her  son  and  grandson.    But  where  is  the  latter  ?" 

"  See  him  in  that  bundle ;  but  do  not  disturb  his  lordship 
until  we  get  in  the  carriage.  Come,  come,  do  not  keep 
mamma  waiting  !  " 

After  greeting  Walter  Hayne,  gracefully  acknowledge 


298 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


ing  the  introduction  to  his  bride,  the  party  laden  with 
light  traveling  luggage  were  soon  on  terra  firma  and  rap- 
idly stowed  away  comfortably  in  the  handsome  old  family 
coach,  and  driven  off,  a  thousand  questions  asked  and 
answered  during  the  homeward  drive. 

"  Here  we  are,  darling,"  whispered  Louis.  "How  do 
you  like  the  appearance  of  your  future  home  ?  "  and  he 
threw  open  the  window,  ordering  the  coachman  to  stop  a  few 
minutes  before  entering  the  open  gate. 

A  magnificent,  palatial  residence,  bright  lights  gleaming 
from  every  window  and  door,  which  were  thrown  open  as 
if  in  welcome  to  theyoung  master  and  lady  who  would  so 
soon  preside  there,  after  the  gloom  of  the  past  seven  years  ; 
the  white  marble  steps,  gleaming  statuary,  glistening  foun- 
tains in  the  lovely  and  artistically  laid  out  garden  still  in 
high  bloom  from  a  careful  culture,  met  the  fair,  young  wife's 
and  mistress'  eyes.  For  a  few  seconds  she  looked  in  wrapt 
attention,  emotions  too  sacred  for  utterance  swelling  her 
bosom,  then,  regardless  of  all  around,  she  threw  herself  on 
her  husband's  breast,  and  in  a  thrilling  whisper  said : 

It  appears  very  grand  and  formidable  to  a  little  country 
maid,  but  I  am  not  afraid  to  take  my  rightful  position  as  its 
future  mistress,  and  promise  you  here,  before  I  cross  its 
threshold,  that  I  will  make  it  a  happy  home  for  you  and 
our  boy ;  a  brilliant  place  for  the  elite  and  fashion  of  the 
city ;  a  pleasant  resort  for  old  and  valued  friends ;  an  open 
asylum  and  happy  home  for  your  relatives,  and  will  never 
make  you  blush  nor  regret  that  you  choose  your  wife, 
the  mistress  of  your  proud,  ancestral  home,  from  the 
country." 

"  Do  I  doubt  it,  my  darling  ?  I  am  too  happy  and  proud 
of  my  peerless  treasure,  that  has  made  earth  an  Eden  for  me, 
to  doubt  or  fear  for  the  future.  A  country  maid,  indeed  ! 
Where  in  Charleston,  w'th  all  its  gentility  and  boasted  re- 
finement, could  I  find  one  to  rival  you,  my  beautiful, 
accomplished  and  beloved  wife  ?"  was  the  whispered  reply, 
as  he  kissed  her  with  passionate,  lover-like  fondness. 

"  The  old  love  still  burns  brightly  I  see,"  commented 


Home  Again. 


299 


Arthur,  his  face  beaming  with  happiness  and  satisfac- 
tion. 

A  few  minutes  later  Charlotte  was  in  her  mother's  arms, 
who  welcomed  her  with  wild  demonstrations  of  joy  and 
delight.  Miss  Graham  was  quieter,  but  tears  of  happiness 
stood  in  her  eyes  as  she  clasped  her  dearly  loved  niece  to 
her  heart,  then  turned  to  welcome  her  husband  and  kiss,  as 
well  as  she  could,  the  astonished  but  satisfied  Master  How- 
ard, who  cooed  his  baby  language  loudly,  and  submitted 
graciously  to  the  unusual  amount  of  kissing  and  fondling 
bestowed  upon  him. 

Mrs.  Renolds,  in  shining  black  silk  und  white  lace  neck- 
erchief, her  kindly  face  radiant  with  satisfaction,  now  came 
forward  and  welcomed  "  her  boy,"  and  the  young  mistress, 
expressing  in  warm  terms  her  pleasure  and  delight  to  see 
them  home  safe  after  their  long  tour.  The  old,  faithful 
family  servants  came  in  and  were  introduced  to  their  future 
young  mistress,  who,  with  a  few  kind  words,  and  her  win- 
ning grace,  impressed  them  favorably,  for  they  left  with 
broad  faces  of  satisfaction,  grinning,  and  freely  expressing 
their  delight  "  Dat  it  was  not  Miss  'Rene,  for  sure  it  will  be 
a  pleasure  to  wait  on  such  a  sweet,  kind  looking  lady  as 
Mars  Louis'  wife." 

The  next  few  days  were  devoted  to  rest  and  the  final 
installation  in  their  grand,  sumptuous,  and  elegantly  fur- 
nished home,  Sunday  making  their  appearance  at  St.  Paul's 
in  the  remodeled  and  richly  upholstered  old  family  pew, 
at  which  time  the  young  son  and  heir  was  baptized  into  the 
faith  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Apostolic  Church. 

The  following  Tuesday  a  fashionable  reception  was  held, 
the  magnificent  parlors,  decorated  with  rare,  beautiful 
flowers,  thrown  open,  and  as  Charlotte  stood  with  graceful 
ease  and  elegant,  polished  courtesy,  attired  in  trained,  glis- 
tening silk,  costly  laces  and  rich  jewelry,  receiving  the 
numerous  visitors,  the  cream  of  Charleston's  proud,  refined 
aristocracy,  her  young,  adoring  husband  had  naught  to  be 
ashamed  of  or  to  regret  his  too  well  chosen  partner,  but  rather 
every  thing  to  make  him  proud,  satisfied  and  happy,  which 


3<x> 


The  Waif;  or,  The  Web  of  Life. 


he  really  was  if  judged  by  his  radiant,  peaceful  face 
during  this  exhibition  of  his  future  elegant  style  of  living, 
and  with  the  full  consciousness  within  that  it  was  not  all 
outward  glitter;  that  the  beautiful,  courteous  woman  was 
not  simply  a  devotee  of  this  outward  conventional  life,  but  a 
true,  loving,  practical  wife ;  a  congenial,  amiable  com- 
panion, and  one  of  the  fondest,  most  faithful  of  mothers. 

Thus  begun,  life  opened  with  brilliant,  flattering  pros- 
pects of  future  enjoyment  and  happiness,  but  not  entirely 
unalloyed,  for  such  is  not  earthly  experience.  Safely  ven- 
turing there  is  not,  or  ever  was,  perfect  peace,  joy  and 
happiness  upon  earth,  for  if  such  were  possible  we  would 
not  be  sojourners  here,  seeking  a  better,  even  a  heavenly 
home.  If  there  were  no  drops  of  bitterness,  no  full 
measures  of  woe  here,  why  should  we  desire  or  need 
Heaven  ?  Louis  and  Charlotte  Montaine  were  happy  and 
peaceful  in  each  other.  Life  was  cast  in  pleasant,  delight- 
ful places  for  them.  They  were  admired,  loved,  courted. 
Every  elegance  and  comfort  that  wealth  could  procure 
surrounded  them.  Every  pleasure,  self-gratification,  was 
attainable,  still  they  knew  and  realized  it  was  not  Heaven. 
Often,  amid  their  brilliant,  loving  career,  sad,  bitter 
memories  would  steal  in  upon  them  of  the  past.  Could 
Louis  Montaine  forget  his  father's  blighted  life,  his  young 
mother's  wrongs  and  shame?  Could  he  feel  perfectly 
happy  and  easy  at  heart  when  he  knew  his  boyish  infatua- 
tion ?  his  own  cousin,  the  once  beautiful,  haughty  Irene, 
was  in  the  sure  grasp  of  relentless  disease — slowly  but 
surely  dying  with  consumption,  as  all  thought,  but  in  fact 
with  a  broken,  crushed  heart,  caused  by  her  keen  disap- 
pointment and  scorned,  rejected  love — suffering  for  the  com- 
mon necessaries  of  life,  working  in  a  stranger's  home  for  the 
pittance  given  a  nursery  governess,  yet  proudly  refusing 
his  aid,  and  turning  in  contempt  from  his  offer  of  a  luxu- 
rious home  of  ease,  and  the  tender  love  and  care  of  one 
who  would  have  been  a  kind,  devoted  cousin  and  friend, 
yet  whom  she  hated  for  innocently  usurping  her  place  in 
the  heart  and  home  of  the  man  she  had  loved  with  the 
truest,  most  passionate  adoration. 


Home  Again. 


301 


Could  Charlotte  banish  the  memory  of  her  ill-fated  foster 
sister,  her  sad,  sinful  end,  ever  and  constantly  reminded  of 
her  wrongs  and  sufferings  by  meeting  in  her  "  circle"  the 
willful,  fiendish  seducer  of  the  poor,  unfortunate,  nameless 
waif  ?  Could  the  tender,  loving  heart  help  feeling  pity  for 
the  pale,  sad,  disappointed  yet  devout  young  divine  whom 
she  knew  had  loved  her  from  boyhood,  and  still  remained 
faithful  to  that  devotion,  daring  not  to  seek  a  wife  when 


eyes,  as  they  gazed  upon  her  once,  seated  in  her  luxurious 
pew,  attired  in  her  costly  panoply  of  wealth,  implied  much 
that  was  not  so,  yet  ever  haunted  her  with  uneasy  memories. 

Harry  thinks  I  married  Louis  for  his  wealth,  this  bril- 
liant life,  but  ah !  God,  Thou  knowest  it  was  not  so  !  I 
only  liked  Harry  as  a  friend  or  brother,  but  my  darling 
Louis  with  an  all-absorbing,  passionate,  whole-hearted, 
adoring  love,  and  I  am  not  to  blame  that  he  is  rich.  God 
knows,  and  I  know,  that  his  wealth  did  not  influence  me 
any,  but  still  I  wish  Harry  could  know  this  too." 


he  had  no  heart  to  give  ? 


